


Mercury Lies

by snowywintertales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Different Houses, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowywintertales/pseuds/snowywintertales
Summary: AU. Sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect Remus Lupin is a student of many secrets, and Sirius Black is intent on discovering them all. R/S.





	1. Prologue

**Mercury Lies  
** _Prologue_

Professor McGonagall’s expression was one of careful amusement, and quite suddenly, the boy sat across from her doubted his decision. ‘I’m not sure, however, that I would be the right person for the job,’ he attempted.

McGonagall raised only an eyebrow, and pursed her lips in what seemed like disapproval, a look he had never seen aimed at himself before. ‘Nonsense,’ she told him, taking a sip of her hot tea, the steam of which circled up past her cheek and disappeared into thin air. ‘You are one of the brightest students in this school, and I truly doubt that you are as awful at teaching as you wish to make yourself out to be, Mr Lupin.’

Carefully knotting his hands together under the table, sixteen-year-old Remus Lupin, his light brown hair neatly combed, falling just below his ears, and his silver and blue tie, although perhaps not the newest around, knotted perfectly, chalked it up as a losing battle and offered her a smile. ‘Of course, Professor,’ he said, and finished the rest of his tea.

* * *

The next morning, Remus Lupin could be found in bathroom of the Ravenclaw boys dormitory, which he shared with three other students. He was currently trying, for the fifth time, to properly knot his tie, a task he kept failing at because his hands would not stop shaking. The sky outside revealed a dark, thundery October morning, and Remus was the first up, as he always was.

‘You are going to be _fine_ ,’ he told his reflection, which stared back at him through large, round blue eyes.

‘Sure you are, dear,’ the mirror responded sleepily.

Remus ignored her, and, while clenching his fingers too tightly in the fabric, finally managed to knot his tie properly. He nodded once, firmly, at his own reflection, and then pinned on his Prefect badge, before leaving the dormitory quietly, careful not to wake anyone. As he made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, he gave some consideration to what had happened yesterday.

After class, Professor McGonagall, who taught Transfiguration, had caught him just as he was about to leave. She invited Remus into her office, and asked him as she poured him some tea into a dainty, floral china cup that seemed completely out of place in her office, if he had every considered becoming a tutor. 

‘Er, no, Professor, I can’t say I have,’ he responded, surprised, pulling the book bag that had once belonged to his father a bit closer to his body.

‘Take a seat, Mr Lupin,’ McGonagall said, handing him a cup. Remus blinked, and then remembered his manners. He carefully put his bag on the floor, took a seat, and accepted the cup from her, hoping that having something to hold and stir would make him less nervous about this.

‘I think you should consider becoming a tutor,’ she said, pouring her own tea, and offering him a biscuit from a plate. Remus thought it impolite to refuse, so he accepted, holding it up in the air. ‘I have discussed it with Professor Flitwick, your Head of House, and we are both convinced you would be most excellent at it.’

‘What – what would I need to do?’ Remus asked.

‘It’s nothing too big,’ McGonagall replied, her tone business-like. Remus wondered why it seemed to be tinged with a slight tone of annoyance, and then wondered if that was, perhaps, aimed at him. He took a bite out of the biscuit, just to be sure. ‘One of my fifth year students, Mr Pettigrew, has not yet caught up with all of his classmates and with his OWLs coming up, I am getting worried. He is a bright boy, but he can be a bit slow on the uptake, and I fear I lack the time to teach him myself.’

Remus felt a slight, uneasy jolt in the pit of his stomach. Peter Pettigrew was good friends with the two other boys in his year in Gryffindor, Sirius Black and James Potter, and the three of them often caused a lot of trouble. Remus didn’t know any of them personally – they were in another House and a year below him – but he knew _of_ them, like most everyone in the school did. He really didn’t think this would be such a good idea.

As if reading his mind, McGonagall smiled. ‘I think you should give it a go, Mr Lupin. If you find it is not for you, there will be no harm done, and I will not ask again.’

‘Right,’ Remus replied.

‘Excellent,’ McGonagall said. ‘I propose you meet with Mr Pettigrew in the library. If he asks any questions you do not know the answer to, you can always send him to me. Does tomorrow at eight o’clock in the morning work for you?’

And that was the reason why, on the one day he had no morning classes, Remus was on his way down to breakfast. He was early, as was his habit, and he had a quiet breakfast, during which he finished reading a book for Advanced Charms that was due to be read next week. At promptly half seven, he was in Transfiguration section of the library, tapping his quill against the parchment. To kill some time, he was re-reading an essay that was due the next day, to see if he had made any mistakes. When he glanced at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time, he wondered if Pettigrew was going to show at all.

He sighed, and then, suddenly, he remembered vividly his mother, on the day his parents had taken him to King’s Cross Station to start his very first year at Hogwarts. Her face had been pale, tinged with worry, because the full moon had been just two days ago. Remus, himself, was tired and boasted a new, intricate scar across his neck, which was angry and red and only just barely peeking out of the collar of his robes. She had pulled him towards her, ignoring his faint yelp of protest, and he could smell the sickening smell of worry coming through her thin summer dress.

‘Sweetheart,’ she had whispered, so softly Remus had had to lean closer to hear. ‘Remember to be careful. You have a valuable secret to keep. Do not give it away to anyone. Promise me.’ She had clutched his robes, which had felt thick and heavy and suffocating, all of a sudden. It had sounded like a warning.

At that moment, all Remus had been able to think of was the sound of his mother’s crying as the only grandparent he had ever known – his grandfather John, strong and Welsh and proud, who had been Remus’s favourite person in the world – yelled at her. ‘You had to marry a wizard, hadn’t you? This is all _your_ fault! I don’t _ever_ want to see any of you ever again!’ His grandfather had stormed out, then, past a horrified Remus, who had come downstairs to get breakfast. As far as he knew, his parents had never spoken of this moment to anyone, but they had moved out of Chepstow the next day. It was the last time he had ever seen his grandfather.

Back at the station, Remus had felt his mother tense up. He then bit down on his lip until he felt it bleed, and then he had responded, ‘I promise, Mum.’

‘Thank you,’ she had said, her voice thick with tears, which were gone the moment Remus pulled away from her.

This very promise, made when he was just eleven, was the reason Remus kept mostly to himself. He spoke up in class when he knew the answer, he was cordial to his fellow students, and he had a handful of acquaintances he spoke to and studied with occasionally. But he couldn’t really say that he had a lot of friends, if any at all. But, he thought to himself, it wasn’t like he minded. He knew what people called him behind his back. _Loony Lupin_.

At precisely a quarter past eight, Peter Pettigrew arrived at his table, bringing along James Potter. ‘So sorry I’m late!’ Peter half-shouted, upsetting Madame Pince, who glared at him with beady eyes.

‘That’s all right,’ Remus responded, and then made eye-contact with James Potter, who was wearing a bright grin. ‘I don’t think you’re here to be tutored as well?’

‘Fuck no,’ Potter laughed. Madam Pince made a loud shushing noise, which he ignored. ‘I’m just here to drop Petey off, because he’s a big girl and didn’t want to go by himself. So I escorted him, because I am an excellent friend and Sirius couldn’t be bothered to get up this early.’

Pettigrew made a noise of protest at being called a girl, but Potter heartily clapped him on the shoulder. ‘See you in Potions!’ He gave a dramatic wave and disappeared between the Charms and Muggle Studies aisles closest to them, his footsteps eerily quiet.

Remus looked back at Pettigrew, who was fiddling with the hem of his robes and was avoiding looking at him. ‘Why don’t you have a seat,’ Remus said kindly, and Pettigrew did just that. He looked at the table, and heaved a heavy sigh.

‘I’m so sorry you have to put up with me, I’m _hopeless_ at Transfig and I’m terrified that I’m not going to pass my OWL! It’s likely my mum will eventually keep her promise and disown me.’

Remus blinked, wondering if all Gryffindors were as dramatic as the two he had just met. Pettigrew still wasn’t looking at him, absently scratching his name into the top of the table with his wand. Remus realised he probably needed a bit of reassuring. ‘You’ll be fine, Pettigrew. OWLs are months away and Professor McGonagall told me you’re very bright, so I’m sure you’ll be well rid of me in a couple of weeks.’

Pettigrew looked up, beaming. Together, they got to work.

* * *

McGonagall hadn’t been wrong. Over the next couple of weeks, Pettigrew showed himself to be a clever student, who grasped the theory behind animal to object transfiguration quite quickly. When it came to putting theory into practice, however, he showed little progress, despite the six lessons they’d had so far.

‘I give up,’ Pettigrew moaned, putting his head in his hands, his wand hanging limply from his fingers. The matchbox he had been trying to transfigure was lying placidly in the same spot Remus had put it ten minutes ago. He had been trying to alter its molecular structure so that it resembled a hamster, but other than the box turning an off-beige colour, nothing had really changed.

‘Why don’t you try again?’ Remus prompted, moving the matchbox towards Pettigrew with his hand. ‘I think it’s your wand movement.’

Pettigrew threw a resentful look at the matchbox, but did as he was told. He swished his wand perfectly but then, as he moved his wrist into the follow-up circle, his fingers overbalanced, just the slightest hint. He didn't seem to notice, finishing his movement with a swirly flourish, and then tapped the matchbox. It vibrated, slightly, but otherwise remained unchanged.

Remus looked apologetically up at Pettigrew. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘Oh, bollocks,’ Pettigrew said, hitting the desk with his fist in frustration.

‘Don’t worry about it, it’s a tricky movement. I do think you’ve had enough for tonight,’ Remus said. He cleared away his books, filing them neatly into his bag in alphabetical order, and looked up to find that Pettigrew was holding out the matchbox and the notes Remus had written for him.

‘You can keep those,’ Remus said. ‘For practice.’

‘You’re joking?’ Pettigrew wondered. ‘This must’ve taken you hours!’ He gestured at the expansive notes Remus had taken for him, written neatly and covered in charts and diagrams.

‘I made them for you,’ Remus said firmly, standing up. He got up off his seat and slung his book bag over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you next week, Pettigrew.’

‘Cheers!’ Pettigrew shouted after him.

* * *

‘Shit,’ Peter declared to no one in particular, when he walked into the Gryffindor dormitory that evening, tossing his bag onto his messy bed.

‘Who, Lupin?’ James asked, although he didn’t sound too interested in hearing the answer. He was lying back on his bed, reading _Quidditch Weekly_ , and hadn't even looked up when Peter entered. Sirius, who was lying on the bed next to James, had pretended to have not heard Peter, like he always did. He was tossing a Snitch up in the air, catching it with his other hand. Occasionally, he would toss it to James, who would catch it without looking up, and would throw it back.

‘I’m stupid,’ Peter announced, flopping down onto the bed, tugging at his Gryffindor tie. When neither of them responded to that, he added, ‘Lupin’s nice, for, you know, a Ravenclaw. He wrote me notes.’

Sirius snorted. James stared.

‘For practice!’ Peter said, hotly, wondering how they always managed to make him feel like a complete idiot.

Sirius sniggered.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Peter announced shortly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with the idea for this story in 2008, but I never finished it. I felt it was high time to give it another chance!


	2. Chapter 1 - to constitute

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 1:  _to constitute_

Friday morning, four weeks after McGonagall had approached him, found Remus and Pettigrew in the library, half-way through their lesson. In the last four weeks, they had had twelve lessons; two, sometimes three times per week, Remus’s Prefect schedule allowing. Remus enjoyed teaching Pettigrew, who had proven himself to be an attentive student. During today’s lesson, he was practising his animal to object transfiguration on the same matchbox Remus had given him before.

With a look of intense concentration on his face, Pettigrew pointed his wand at the matchbox and made his wand movement, carefully, precisely. And when he tapped the lid of the box, it wriggled a little and, right before their eyes, grew in size, like a fast-growing plant, spouting white and brown fur, small teeth, and black eyes, which glittered in the brightly luminous library light above the table. And just like that, the matchbox had turned into a miniature dwarf hamster.

Pettigrew’s eyes bulged comically for a moment, and then he looked up at Remus, his mouth hanging open. Then, he let out a victorious whoop. ‘I’ve done it!’ he told Remus at a volume that was just on the edge of shrill, making Remus – who was already feeling more sensitive to sounds, with full moon coming up – wince a little at its intensity.

Pettigrew seemed not to notice, his voice going a mile a minute. ‘I can’t believe – never thought I would – I mean – you’re absolutely brilliant, Lupin! – shall I just – I mean, I have to give you something – would you like anything from Honeydukes? You’ve said you’re not going to Hogsmeade this weekend –’

Remus blinked at him, surprised. He hadn’t thought Pettigrew would’ve remembered, but it was very kind of him to. He smiled. ‘Congratulations. And you don’t have to get me anything. Maybe get Gloria something, though.’

Pettigrew’s cheeks flushed red, but he was grinning. Over the course of their sessions, he had shyly confessed to Remus that he had a crush on a girl in Remus’s year, called Gloria Atterberry. She was a Hufflepuff, with a heart-shaped face and beautiful, sky-blue eyes, and she had been making eyes at Pettigrew from across the Great Hall. According to Pettigrew, that is. He had also confided in Remus that it was the first girl he’d ever fancied, and that he hadn’t told his friends yet. When Remus had asked why, Pettigrew had raised an eyebrow, and muttered something about Sirius always asking how big her tits were, which had made Remus laugh.

‘Right,’ Pettigrew responded.

Remus nodded politely at him. ‘I think that’s it for our sessions. If you have any more questions, I’m mostly in the library when I’m not in class. Find me any time.’

Formally, Pettigrew shook his hand. That Monday, in class, Pettigrew not only successfully transfigured his wooden box into a hamster, but he was also able to explain to the class the theory behind it. The very same day, he sent Remus a box of the most expensive Honeydukes chocolate he could afford, and a note that explained all this and had the word “thanks” underlined four times. Sat on his bed in the Hospital Wing, hidden behind a thick white curtain, Remus smiled, and snuck a piece of dark chocolate out of the box when Madam Pomfrey wasn’t looking.

Remus was back in class a few days later, and after his first Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall asked him, again, to join her in his office. Over a cup of tea, she complimented him warmly. ‘I’ve seen excellent results with Mr Pettigrew. He has progressed nicely. His wand work, especially, has become a lot steadier. I award you twenty points for Ravenclaw and my compliments.’

Remus, who had only ever been given McGonagall’s compliments once before in his second year, felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily busied himself with his tea. He would later argue to himself that the only reason he agreed to teach his fellow Prefect, Lily Evans, about Switching Spells was because of those bloody compliments (and, perhaps, because of his innate need to please his Professors).

* * *

His first lesson with Lily Evans, whom he knew only from having occasionally being assigned to patrol with her, was that Sunday. She met him in the library, perfectly on time, and her arms laden with books and notes about Switching Spells. Over the course of the lesson, it showed clearly that she was very clever and very sure of herself when it came to the theory behind Switching Spells, which she knew the same way Remus knew MacKendrick’s _The Greek Stones Speak: The Theory of Archaeology in Ancient Greece_ : by heart. In practice, however, this mattered little.

Her wand work, although flawless in its movements, lacked finesse and precision, two things that should’ve been addressed within her third year, but had somehow been overlooked. During the end of the lesson, Remus told her, softly, that she was performing below OWL standard. And before he could say anything more, Lily Evans, with her beautiful, dark, red-orange hair, started crying.  

‘It’s just so _hard_ ,’ she said softly, her green eyes overflowing with uncharacteristic tears that landed onto her detailed notes, blurring the ink. Remus sat, frozen, opposite her. ‘I’ve been trying my best at Transfiguration, but it’s just so wishy-washy,’ she continued. ‘ _Focus on your wand movement_ ,’ she sneered, in a perfect imitation of Professor McGonagall. ‘What does she think I’ve been trying to do?’

Remus bit his lip, hesitating ever so slightly, but then stood up, and slid into the seat next to her. He put a warm hand on her arm, pulled his favourite, blue check handkerchief out of his pocket, and offered it to her. Lily took a few shuddering breaths, and wordlessly took it out of his hands, dabbing at her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, softly, avoiding looking at him.

Remus just said, ‘There now. Don’t cry,’ and the smile she offered him when she met his eyes was beautifully grateful.

His lessons with Lily were very different than his lessons with Pettigrew. Even after only five lessons, she was showing steady progress, which was likely due to her approach, which was a lot more serious and no-nonsense that Pettigrew’s. She preferred to spend the lesson working on her wand technique, and only tended to talk about non-academic subjects when Remus declared their lesson to be over for the day.

Presently, she had just finished packing her bag, which she slung over her left shoulder with practised ease. ‘Have a good weekend, Lupin,’ she offered, looking down at him from where she was stood, behind the wooden chair she had previously occupied.

Remus looked up from where he was filing his notes into his folder, and nodded. ‘Thanks, Evans. You too,’ he responded.

‘Lily,’ she said, firmly.

‘Lily,’ he responded, giving a small smile. She gave a nod in acknowledgement, and left him sitting there, at his favourite table in the library. Remus watched her go, and then returned to filing his notes. He had bought a folder especially for his tutoring notes, which had been a necessary purchase, if a slightly frivolous one. He had taken many notes for Pettigrew, who had dutifully returned all of them, and he was also starting to take notes for Lily, jotting down titles she might want to check out and copying diagrams she might find helpful.

Because he had missed the last Hogsmeade weekend due to the full, he had placed an owl order at Scrivenshaft’s for the folder and some new parchment paper, and had gritted his teeth at the three galleon price the tiny, speedy owl that belonged to the shop had come back with. He had actually also needed to buy a new tie, because this one had started to fray, but that would then have to wait until he got his Christmas money.

As he finished filing his notes and packing his bag, he caught himself wishing, a little wistfully, that he had enough money to buy whatever he wanted.

* * *

‘Evans! Go out with me!’ James shouted across the table, by way of greeting, that morning at breakfast. It was a dismal November morning, just two months into the new school year, and he had been feeling particularly cheerful this morning. Yesterday, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had smothered the Hufflepuffs in the first Quidditch match of the year, and their chances for winning the cup were steadily rising.

‘Potter, shut up,’ Lily responded, from where she was sitting next to Alice Featherston, who didn't look too perturbed by this behaviour. She hadn’t even looked up from her plate.

‘I happen to know for a fact you’ve got a free period tomorrow between Charms and Potions!’ James tried again.

Lily grimaced. It was a commonly known fact that the reason they had a free period tomorrow was because Professor Trelawney had had some sort of nervous breakdown following an epic prank James, Sirius and Peter had pulled, which had resulted in the destruction of half of all her teacups. Trelawney had claimed she needed some more time to balance her inner eye before she would be able to teach again.

‘No, thank you, I’m busy,’ Lily said.

‘It’s just a date, Evans, I’m sure you can make time.’

She heaved a big sigh, standing up from the table. As she had never done this before, James was thrown, and could only look up at her, his whole body thrumming with heavy anticipation. Instead of coming over to talk to him, however, she made her way over to the Ravenclaw table, where she sat down next to Lupin, who had been reading a heavy-looking book.

He looked up at her, surprised. She said something that involved a lot of hand gestures. Lupin looked up, catching James’s eye, and then looked back to Lily, nodding and pushing his plate towards her. He made some sort of comment and she laughed, leaning over him to reach for the bread plate, and buttering her toast.

‘Sorry, mate,’ Sirius said, clapping James on the shoulder.

James’s eyes narrowed at the pair of them.

That evening, an irrationally jealous James complained so long and so very loudly that Sirius was eventually persuaded to agree that, yes, there was something dodgy about that Lupin fellow, and yes, they would take turns keeping an eye on him whenever he would be tutoring Lily. All of this was decided upon in hasty whispers, when Peter was in the bathroom, because, as James put it, Peter was in love with Lupin, and his judgement could therefore not be trusted.

‘The things I do to make you happy,’ Sirius grumbled.

‘You love me, really,’ James responded.

Freshly washed, Peter appeared in the door of the bathroom. ‘Are we planning something?’ he asked, having caught the last two sentences, his eyes alight with curiosity.

‘No,’ Sirius said, shutting his bed curtains.

‘Night, Pete,’ James likewise said, leaving Peter standing by himself, quietly dripping water onto the dormitory floor. Eventually, he sighed, and got ready for bed. They would tell him eventually. They always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reviews! I'm still working on fleshing out this story, but I'm hoping to update it once a week. I'm really excited to work out the dynamic of the Marauders sans Remus, which I think would be a far more imbalanced one.


	3. Chapter 2 - to consolidate

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 2: _to consolidate_

True to form, over the next few weeks, in-between Quidditch practice, far-too-easy classes, and free periods spent whittling away time smoking on the top of the Astronomy Tower, Sirius kept his promise to James, and traded off with him hiding in the library to spy on Lupin and Evans. After four lessons, they discovered the best place to hide behind was the third to last bookcase in the Transfiguration section.

James usually spent the time of the lesson studying the forty different ways the light hits Evans’ hair, he had confided in Sirius. By contrast, Sirius usually spent the time in varying degrees of boredom, eventually settling for surreptitiously watching Lupin who, in all honestly, appeared to be quite boring and harmless, and definitely not interested in dating Evans.

Presently, Sirius was sat with his back against the bookcase, moving a cigarette over and between his fingers, attempting to keep it balanced. Lupin and Evans had been talking about Switching Spells for the better part of an hour, and for some reason, Evans was still failing to perform them properly, even though they were fourth-year material. The cigarette dropped onto the floor, and Sirius grit his teeth in annoyance as he leant forward to pick it up. He honestly couldn’t understand how Lupin could still manage to be this patient, and not hit Evans over the head with one of the heaviest books he could find.  

Thankfully, just as his handsome silver wrist-watch indicated it was four o’clock, the lesson seemed to have ended, because he heard the loud shuffling of parchment paper and books. Sirius pocketed his wand, which had been balancing precociously on his knee, and got to his feet, quietly patting thick, charcoal-coloured clouds of dust off his black trousers.

‘Thanks, Remus,’ Evans said. ‘I was wondering, actually, if you would have some time to meet up for an extra lesson on Saturday. I really want to get the hang of these stupid spells and get out of your hair, and I think an extra lesson might do the trick.’

 _Remus_. Sirius wrinkled his nose in thought. Certainly not the most common of names even in the wizarding world; it had fallen out of use almost two hundred years ago. Then again, Sirius thought to himself, it did suit Lupin, whose ingrained, stuffy politeness was something that belonged to a different, bygone era.  

‘I’m so sorry,’ Lupin said. ‘I can’t meet you Saturday.’

‘That’s all right,’ Evans responded, and Sirius could hear the radiant smile she always wore in her voice, all the way from where he was stood. ‘Thanks anyway. Bye!’

‘Goodbye,’ Lupin said, formally.

That was today’s lesson done, then. He was free again. Sirius stretched lazily, tucked his cigarette behind his ear, and pulled his wand back out of his pocket. He stood, for a moment, trying to think of the fastest way to the Astronomy Tower, and eventually settled upon the passageway between the third floor corridor and the fifth floor corridor, which was located just seconds way from the library. He glanced at his watch. If he could make it there within the next two minutes, he still had ten minutes before had to be in Potions.

‘Excuse me,’ came an unexpectedly polite voice from behind him, and Sirius turned around, surprised.

It was Lupin. Of course it was Lupin. He was stood there with an old leather book bag slung over his shoulder, a set of books clutched almost protectively to his chest, his calm blue eyes surveying Sirius.  It was the first time Sirius had gotten a proper look at him, and up close, Lupin just looked incredibly tired. His hair was growing out of a too-quickly-done haircut, and curled up underneath his ears.

‘Yes?’ Sirius demanded a little impatiently, when nothing more was coming.

Lupin’s brow furrowed. ‘I was just hoping to pass through here,’ he said, gesturing with one hand at the passage behind Sirius, which gave way to the Muggle Studies section, and was easily the quickest way out of the library.

‘Oh, sure, sorry,’ Sirius said, feeling a little stupid, and stepping aside.

‘Thanks,’ Lupin said, offering him a small, polite smile. The passage between the two bookcases was narrow, and Sirius felt Lupin’s broad shoulders brush past his own, the movement careful and precise, and although the touch lasted for only a second, it felt like longer. Lupin moved further away, footsteps precise, albeit soft. Sirius hesitated for only just a moment and then, surprising even himself, burst out,

‘Hang on!’

Lupin stopped, hesitated, and turned to face him. His eyes cycled through a vast array of emotions, so fast it was dizzying, but then his face became a mask of indifference. He looked at Sirius expectantly.

‘You – ah, taught Pete, yeah?’ Sirius eventually managed, catching up with him easily, and coming to stand next to him. ‘That was decent of you.’

Lupin’s face looked impassive, but Sirius was standing quite close to him, now, and could see that there was the slightest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. ‘Thank you,’ Lupin responded, then, cordially.

Sirius searched his mind for something to say. He’d always been able to do small talk very well, but there was something about this particular situation – of him, lurking behind bookcases to spy on Lupin and Evans, of Lupin standing in front of him now, a few strands of hair falling down in front of his eyes – that disarmed him. ‘I hear you’re teaching Evans,’ Sirius eventually came up with.

Lupin, silently, nodded.

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek. He’d never had a conversation with someone that was this stilted before, so tinged with awkwardness around the edges. Usually, it was different – girls _loved_ talking to him and boys _loved_ being near him and James. But Lupin appeared entirely unaffected; in fact, his left foot was set slightly away from his right, as if he was in a hurry to get away.

‘Right, I’ll get out of your hair,’ Sirius said. ‘I was going to go to the Astronomy Tower anyway.’

Lupin nodded again, just once. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, and left the library.

Sirius watched him leave, feeling oddly like he’d just taken an exam and failed terribly.  

* * *

Two days later, it was Sirius’s turn to keep watch in the library again, much to his annoyance. He’d been looking forward to Quidditch practice tonight, and trying out the new Beater bat James had given him as a belated birthday gift, but practice had been cancelled because of the weather. Instead, he was stuck in the library, listening to Lupin demonstrate, with saint-like patience, the correct wand movement for Switching Spells to Evans.

‘I think you’re veering too much to the left,’ Lupin said.

‘I don’t think so?’ Evans answered, and it sounded like a question.

This had been going on for the ten minutes – Lupin gently reminding Evans that she was being stupid, and Evans doubtfully claiming she wasn’t – and Sirius sighed audibly. Against the loudness of their conversation, it was unnoticeable, but it was a clear sign of his own frustration. Sirius didn’t really understand why he’d let James talk him into this, because it was an incredibly ridiculous thing to do, all things considered.

‘That’s it for now,’ Lupin said. ‘One more lesson, I should say, and then you will be fine.’

‘Thanks, Remus,’ Evans responded, and Sirius could hear the shuffling of papers, which indicated the end of the lesson. Soon, Evans’ shapely, easily recognisable figure walked past the bookcases Sirius was hiding behind, her auburn hair displaying hints of gold in the candlelight. Sirius pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and put it between his lips. Effortlessly, he got up off the floor, sliding his wand into his sleeve.

There was a pause, and then a quiet voice from behind him said ‘May I pass by there, please?’

Sirius blinked, turned, and faced Lupin, who was stood across from him wearing an unreadable expression. Oddly, there seemed to be something different about Lupin. His face had an ashy tinge to it, but his eyes were bright and blue and imploring, and there seemed to be a tightness in-between his shoulders, as if he was vibrating with tension that he couldn’t dispel.

It was intriguing, and something in Sirius’s heart stutter-stopped, just for a moment. He nodded, perhaps a bit belatedly, and stepped backwards and out of the row, giving Lupin more room to pass by. He did just this, his shoulder almost colliding with Sirius’s, as it had done the week before, and then he moved towards the exit.

Sirius had just opened his mouth to say something, anything, to stop him from going, even though he didn’t really know why, when Lupin stopped, turned back around, and said, ‘Could I have one?’

Of all the things Sirius had ever expected Lupin to say, that was not one of them. Sirius pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, his arm falling by his side as he looked Lupin up and down. ‘A cig, you mean?’ he asked.

Lupin nodded at him.

Sirius blinked, and then shrugged, ‘Sure,’ he said, and found the pack in his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette and tossed it to Lupin, who caught it, surprisingly deftly, with one hand. ‘I was about to go to the Astronomy Tower to smoke mine, if you’d like to come?’ Sirius asked, before he could rightly process what he’d said.

Like they had done last time, Lupin’s eyes cycled through a vast array of emotions, too quickly for Sirius to catch on, but then, surprising Sirius, he nodded.

Sirius pocketed his cigarette, saw that Lupin had done the same, and together, they made their way out of the library. A few minutes later, Sirius was just about to take a right to get to the nearest staircase, but Lupin said, ‘I know a spot, just through here,’ and he strode off and, as much to his own surprise as any, Sirius followed him into a classroom on their left.

Just when he stepped through, the door was spelled shut behind him by Lupin, who had made his way over to the windows at the back of the classroom, which were large and reached from ceiling to floor, with majestic white curtains. Lupin had dropped his leather bag onto the sill of the nearest window and was fiddling with one of the latches. Sirius pulled his attention away from the broad lines of his shoulders to look around the room. It was an old classroom, with stacks of furniture pushed against the sides of the back right wall, sheeted with dust Sirius could see from even where he stood. The ceiling was amazingly high, disappearing into an arched dome, and Sirius had the odd thought that it may have been a conservatory of sorts, if you could really call it that.

There was an obvious scratching of metal and a triumphant breath from Lupin, and the center window opened, wide and intimidating, with a loud, rusty, swinging noise. Lupin turned around to face him, eyebrows raised in question, and Sirius made his way over, a feeling of intense curiosity winning him over.

When he reached the window, he looked out over the sill and saw that it gave way to a small tower; just enough for two, maybe three people. Curiously, Sirius looked at Lupin, and wondered, out loud, where on earth Lupin had managed to find this. Lupin didn’t really respond to that, just said, ‘It’s a bit of a drop and there’s a ledge you don’t want to fight with, so look out.’ Then, with feline-like agility, he climbed onto the window sill and dropped himself out of sight, landing perfectly on his feet.

Sirius let out a low whistle of admiration, and vaulted over the sill himself, coming to land on his haunches, and he got up. Lupin nodded at him, one of the corners of his mouth quirked in what could have maybe been a smile if he allowed it to be, and then he headed to the wall of the tower, which was crumbling and barely-there and falling apart, but the view from it was magnificent, revealing large, green trees from the Forbidden Forest, the grey of nearby mountains, and a part of the lake Sirius was sure he’d never seen before.

Lupin had lit his cigarette by the time Sirius joined him, and was staring out in the direction of the lake.

‘Wouldn’t’ve pegged you for a smoker,’ Sirius said, nodding towards the way Lupin smoked comfortably, his wrist dropping with a certain pureblood elegance that didn’t go unnoticed by Sirius, who suddenly remembered, quite vaguely, that he was related in some sort of way to the Lupins, fourth cousin on his father’s side, or something or other.

‘I’m not,’ Lupin said, and some of the tightness had gone out of his shoulders. ‘It’s – my granddad used to.’

‘Mabon?’ Sirius asked as he leaned against a nearby wall, remembering a tall, bear of a man that used to work with his father in the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had been a regular at the Black holiday dinner parties with his beauty of a wife in tow. Sirius’s mother had rescinded their long-standing invitation the moment she’d found out their only son had married a Muggle.

Lupin looked at Sirius with surprise etched in every feature of his face, but, most prominently, in his eyes, which had widened slightly. In that moment, Lupin’s features were uncannily expressive, even more so than James’s were, but a second later, his face was blank again. He shook his head, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke in one deep gust.

‘Oh, I liked him,’ Sirius said, with a shrug. ‘He used to give me sweets.’

Lupin snorted. ‘He would,’ was all he said in response, and Sirius lit his own cigarette with a wave of his wand, following Lupin’s line of sight out to the lake, which was still and dark and slightly ominous in its beauty.

‘This place is amazing,’ Sirius said, ‘I can’t believe I never found this before.’

Lupin’s mouth again did that almost-smile thing, and he gave Sirius a look that was meant to say something, hint at some hidden joke, but Sirius didn’t really know how to read it, although he couldn’t help but grin back. Lupin’s cigarette was almost gone at this point, and he made it vanish with a wave of his wand, which he had taken out of his pocket. ‘I should,’ he said, vaguely, and pulled away from the wall. Lupin made his way back to the window, but just before he reached it, he turned around again and, still walking backwards, but now speaking, said, ‘Thanks, Black.’

Sirius nodded in reply, watching him climb back from the tower onto the window sill; with a swish of the curtains, he was gone. Sirius stayed outside, looking out towards the lake, and finished his cigarette at a leisurely pace, pondering over what had just happened. Then he made his way back into the castle as well, and, about fifteen minutes later, found James lying on his bed in the dormitory, reading a comic he’d swiped from Peter’s nightstand.

He looked up when Sirius entered the dormitory, a grin on his face. ‘How was it?’

‘Fine,’ Sirius said dismissively. ‘And you’ve got it wrong about Lupin, by the way. He’s not interested in Evans.’

James let out a breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I kind of thought.’

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We snuck away for a magical holiday in Eastern Europe, and I spent a lot more time with my toes dipped into turquoise coloured water than writing this chapter, which was fussy and dragging its feet. I do hope you’ll like it, nonetheless ♥


	4. Chapter 3 - to benign

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 3:  _to benign_

The illicit cigarette Remus had smoked alongside Sirius Black had dispelled the tightness in his muscles, but it had done nothing to take away the sense of foreboding that he’d felt when experiencing the other symptoms, like the headache that settled itself into the back of his mind and refused to go away, or the nausea that came in bouts and nearly made him sick in the library. It was therefore not entirely unexpected that the full moon that fell that Saturday in December was, like the blue moon last June, one that resulted in earth-shattering injuries. He awoke in the Hospital Wing, groggy and disoriented, and found Madam Pomfrey leaning over his bed, fussing with his sheets.

‘There you are, Mr Lupin,’ she said, relief evident in her voice, ‘I was going to suggest a transfer to St Mungo’s if you hadn’t woken up by tonight.’

Remus wanted to say something, but found he couldn’t, because once he’d opened his mouth to respond, the skin just beside his mouth broke and started bleeding profusely, quickly wetting the pristinely white sheets. He sat up, or attempted to, only to sag back down again because a numbing pain shot down from his neck to his spine.

‘Lay back down,’ Madam Pomfrey said, firmly, pushing him completely back down against the sheets. She tapped her wand against his cheek – against the cut that Remus would later discover ran from the bottom side of his cheek all the way across his top lip – which thankfully stopped bleeding immediately. ‘You can’t talk for a while.’

Remus looked at her, horrified.

‘The cut is healing up nicely,’ Madam Pomfrey said, pointedly ignoring his look, ‘for how it looked when I first found you Sunday.’ Then, as always, she began to recite his injuries to him. ‘So,’ she said, primly, ‘there’s the cut on your cheek, and then you’ve got a deep wound that reaches all the way across your back. My guess is that you smashed yourself against the table, which had been broken when I came in. I’ve gotten the wood splinters out, but the force of the impact is going to cost you at least a week to recover from. I’ve already contacted all of your Professors and they are aware that you won’t be coming to class this week. And of course, you’ve got bruises, mostly around your wrists, but they’ll soon be gone. All in all, I’d say two scars, but you’re lucky you didn’t manage to cause any permanent damage. Did you get all of that?’

Remus blinked in acknowledgement, which was about the only thing he could do.

‘As I said, I’m glad you’ve woken up by yourself,’ she said, smoothing his sheets and brushing back his hair to feel his forehead for a fever. ‘I’ve ordered you some soup especially from the kitchens, which you should really try to eat, because you’ve not had anything for three days. After that, I’m going to start giving you some potions, which should speed up the healing process, although I’d wager it’d be safest if you were asleep for most of it.’

Remus nodded, cautiously, and steeled himself for what was to come.

The days of recovery were long and tedious. The gash across Remus’s back was persistently present and resulted in the fact that, most of the time, he couldn’t even sit up long enough to do his homework, which proved to be quite frustrating, as it usually was his only distraction. Remus was grateful, therefore, for the company of Professor Flitwick, who would bring him his homework every two days, and was always happy to catch him up on what he’d missed during Advanced Charms. During his last visit, Flitwick mentioned that he was doing some research for an article he was writing for _Challenges in Charming_ , which piqued Remus’s interest; Charms was easily his best subject.

Perhaps sensing this, Flitwick’s eyebrows raised. ‘Why don’t you come to my office after the holidays, Mr Lupin? I would love to hear your insights on the subject,’ he offered.

Remus’s fingers tightened around the sheets and – as he was still forbidden to speak by Madam Pomfrey – nodded just once. Flitwick patted Remus’s wrist, and wished him a lovely holiday. As soon as he’d left, Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the wide set of curtains around Remus’s bed.

‘Mr Lupin,’ she said, with affection, ‘it’s time for your potions, I’m afraid.’

Remus pulled a face, but sat up a little bit straighter in bed, and took the four potions she brought him on a wooden tray without complaint. Then, Madam Pomfrey sat down at his side, the small hospital bed dipping underneath their combined weight. She took out her wand and started examining Remus’s injuries with wordless spells and charms and, after only five short minutes, looked up at him with a beautiful smile.

‘Looks like you’ll be able to go home for Christmas break after all, Mr Lupin,’ she said, cheerfully, and Remus returned her smile tentatively, his eyes dancing with gratitude.

* * *

Remus woke up early the next morning, pushing aside the white curtains that surrounded his bed and glancing out of the window next to his nightstand. The sky outside was an icy shade of grey, with soft snowflakes drifting down, sticking to the high windows of the Hospital Wing. Remus found a fresh change of clothes on his nightstand, and stood up on wobbly, unsteady legs. Swallowing a few words that certainly wouldn’t have been appropriate to utter out loud at the now familiar pain that shot down his spine, he carefully made his way over to the small bathroom at the end of the Hospital Wing.

Once inside, Remus managed to take off his hospital clothes, and took a blissfully warm shower, the hot water soothing on his skin. Although Madam Pomfrey had washed him with a vast array of spells, his own movement had been carefully restricted over the last week and a half. This was the first time he’d stood on his own legs in a long while, and he was absurdly grateful that he was finally allowed to. His monthly visits to the Hospital Wing made him feel dependent, and as someone who, where possible, tried to do everything by himself, without the aid of anyone, it was hard to accept sometimes. He got out of the shower and dressed himself in the pair of faded, blue denim jeans and a knit, azure blue sweater that had been hidden in his nightstand the day before the full moon, to be worn only when he was well again.

When he stepped, gingerly, back into the Hospital Wing, he could see immediately that the tall, white curtains around his bed – which had been expertly hiding him from view from any unwanted visitors – had been removed. When he reached the bed, he also saw that his sheets had been replaced by a new, pristinely white set, and the dirty sheets were nowhere to be seen. Madam Pomfrey usually did this as soon as she had dismissed students, she had once confided in him, happy to have a clean, fresh start.

Remus’s large but battered Hogwarts trunk, which was another family heirloom, having once belonged to his grandfather, was stood proudly at the foot of the bed. With some effort, Remus managed to lift it and he laid it open on the bed. First, he opened the first lock to reveal the miniature bookshelf that he had fitted in there somewhere around third year, which was of small and sturdy birch wood, and housed all of his school supplies, neatly stacked and kept together. Everything was in order, so he closed the lock and opened the second one, finding a stack of neatly wrapped Christmas presents in the corner. His hands found the blue one at the bottom of the pile and he pulled it neatly out.

‘Madam Pomfrey?’ he called. His voice was scratchy and hoarse with disuse and he cleared his throat and gave it another go. Again, his voice came out hoarse, but a bit firmer and louder, and Remus looked around the Hospital Wing to see if she could be found.

Hardly two seconds later, the door to her office opened and Madam Pomfrey poked her head out, looking around curiously. She found him standing there and said, ‘Mr Lupin! I thought you’d already be on the train.’ It sounded slightly chastising, which matched the expression on her face, as she came near the bed. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

Remus nodded, and wordlessly handed her the Christmas present he’d purchased for her last summer. He’d found it in an old magical bookshop in France, where they had been on holiday, and it had only been three galleons. It was a beautiful book about the history of the Healer profession, and it had reminded Remus of her.

Madam Pomfrey took the present from him, visibly shocked, and unwrapped it gently, with a precision that perfectly matched her profession. ‘Oh _Remus_ ,’ she said, touching her fingers to the golden etched lettering that spelled out the book’s title, and then back up at him. ‘You really shouldn’t have, but it’s lovely, thank you.’

Choosing to ignore that, Remus grinned at her. ‘Happy holidays.’

‘Happy holidays, dear,’ she said, and her voice was a bit softer around the edges than it usually was. That lasted only a second, though, because she caught sight of the clock hanging at the far side of the room. ‘Now, off with you, or you’re going to be late!’

Remus followed her eyes and nodded. Quickly, he found his winter cloak and his silver and blue Ravenclaw scarf, and pulled them on. He lifted his heavy trunk off the bed with some effort and pretended not to feel Madam Pomfrey’s concerned eyes following him out of the Hospital Wing. He managed to get downstairs with ten minutes to spare, and found Professor McGonagall standing by the doors, a long list of names written on the parchment in front of her. She looked up when he stated his name and offered him a rare smile. She crossed his name off the list in front of her, and gently guided him towards one of the last carriages.

Once on the train, Remus was lucky to find himself a compartment at the very back of the train; one that was blissfully empty. He got his Ancient Runes textbook out of his bag, and heaved his trunk onto the luggage rack above the seat with some effort. His back was already hurting from him having to carry it down three flights of stairs and then from the carriage to the train; although the wound was healing up nicely (Pomfrey had shown him), the skin around it was painfully taut and sensitive, still. Remus carefully took a seat and opened his book, gritting his teeth against the pain. He really wanted to get a head start on his homework, because this latest stint in the Hospital Wing had ensured that he had fallen quite far behind.

Halfway through the journey, he stopped by the Prefects carriage, to see if he had missed anything of vital importance. He found the Head Girl, who was a beautiful, dark-skinned girl called Sangeetha Kingsley, and who was in Ravenclaw with him, and a smattering of Prefects from all houses, including Lily Evans, who smiled when he stepped into the room. Kingsley smiled, too.

Beside the members of staff, Professor Dumbledore had, with Remus’s full agreement, chosen to inform the Head Girl and Head Boy of Remus’s condition as well. Not only for matters of practicality – they were the ones responsible for the Prefect roster, and could schedule his patrols during weeks where there was no full moon – but also to ensure the students’, and Remus’s, safety. During the full moon, both Head Boy and Head Girl would be patrolling outside in the vicinity of the Whomping Willow, ensuring no student could accidentally come across a werewolf. Fortunately, Remus had missed nothing too pressing during his unwanted time off; he had only missed one patrol but, as Sangeetha told him, she had been able to easily replace him. After a quick chat, Sangeetha sent him off, assuring him everything was fine, and he wasn’t needed.

When the train pulled into King’s Cross station after a train journey that felt, for all intents and purposes, about five minutes long, Remus sighed heavily and put his book back into his bag. He’d managed to get through two chapters, and had even managed to take some notes, which he had written, neatly, on a miniature desk he had transfigured out of a set of matches he was carrying. Remus heaved his trunk off the luggage rack with some effort and stepped out into the corridor, which was busy. He spotted his mother almost instantly when he was just about to step off the train. She was standing quite near the barrier, looking awkward and out of place without his father, whom Remus knew to be at work.

He stepped onto the platform and made his way over to her, careful to avoid other students. She saw him just before he reached her, her brown-red hair tied away from her face in a bun at the nape of her neck, and she stepped towards him, her eyes happy but worried. Remus knew Madam Pomfrey wrote to his parents to keep them updated on his injuries throughout the year. Hope Lupin opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted, quite suddenly.

‘Lupin!’ came a shout from behind him, and Remus turned, surprised.

Pettigrew, grinning from ear to ear, wrapped up in the largest Gryffindor scarf Remus had ever seen, was waving at him with much gusto from where he was stood, just alongside the first carriage of the train. Remus blinked, but nodded, somewhat carefully, in reply. Much to his surprise, Pettigrew headed over to where he was standing, and beamed at him.

‘Lucky I caught you just before you left, eh?’ he said, his Brummie accent thick and lilting and far more present than it had been during the year. Pettigrew had left a woman who could’ve only ever been his mother. Her hair was greying, but she was tall and graceful, her face a milder, more feminine version of Peter’s. Her eyes were hidden by a pair of smart glasses, but she nodded at him, a faint smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Remus nodded back, feeling just the slightest bit silly. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to wish you happy holidays. And for your family, too, of course. Happy holidays, Mrs Lupin!’

‘Thanks, Pettigrew,’ Remus said so that his mother didn’t have to. His voice was hoarse, still, and pitched much lower than his regular speaking voice, but if Pettigrew noticed the difference, he gave no indication. There was a shout of something unintelligible from the Prefect carriage on the train, followed by a loud whoop of victory, and then James Potter and Sirius Black opened the door and leapt off the train in a somewhat dramatic fashion, laughing. One of the Prefects called something very impolite out of the window she had managed to pry open, which only made the pair of them laugh harder.

‘Over here!’ Pettigrew shouted, at a louder volume than Remus thought strictly necessary, and Black managed to locate the sound of the voice, and then both he and Potter came storming over. ‘How did it go?’ Pettigrew asked.

‘A complete success,’ Potter said.

‘Naturally,’ Black added. He was hanging off James Potter, leaning into him, an arm slung across his shoulder, and up close, the pair of them looked like they could’ve been brothers.

Pettigrew sniggered and then looked at Remus with a broad grin. Meanwhile, Remus’s mother, perhaps sensing that something odd and very confusing was happening, had appeared at Remus’s side. Remus was taller than her by a head or two, but she wasn’t as small as Pettigrew, who was easily the smallest in the odd, five-person circle they were forming. A soft, warm hand took his trunk from him, and his mother smiled politely, but firmly. ‘We’ve got to go, Remus,’ she said.

‘Right,’ he said.

‘See you around, Lupin,’ Pettigrew said, cheerfully, waving at him.

Black looked at him, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought, but then he, too, opened his mouth, and wished him a very merry Christmas.

‘Thank you,’ Remus said, who was beginning to think this was all an absurd dream he’d managed to produce under the influence of one of his potions, ‘Er, you too.’

His mother looked at him expectantly and Remus nodded to the three of them, and then turned, following his mother, and, a few minutes later, getting into her comfortable car, which she had parked just outside the station. He had just put his seatbelt on when his mother cleared her throat, and he raised his eyes to look at her.

‘Friends of yours?’ she asked, and her tone was a strange thing, a mixture of curiosity, and tenderness and, somewhere, of something else, something Remus couldn’t rightly place.

‘No,’ Remus said, honestly. ‘I tutored Pettigrew in Transfiguration and he got full marks. I think this was his way of saying thank you.’

‘All right,’ she said, warmly, and Remus wondered, for the first time, what she would have said if he had told her that they were, indeed, his friends. ‘Your father and I missed you. We’re happy you’re safe.’

‘Yeah,’ Remus said, smiling at her. ‘Me too.’


	5. Chapter 4 - to tantalise

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 4: _to tantalise_

After a long drive, Remus and his mother arrived back home in Wales. They quickly, and quite easily, settled back into a routine. Remus spent most of the time in his room, trying to catch up on all of his homework. His father was away most of the time, working long, dull shifts at the Ministry of Magic, and only appeared occasionally for dinner. His mother divided her time neatly between the small home the three of them occupied, and the local church, where she volunteered. She always went to the Sunday service, dressed in clothes she sewed for herself, and Remus always came along, too. His father never attended; he wasn’t religious by any stretch of the imagination, and could often be counted upon to recite, bitterly, the number of witches and wizards that had fallen prey to the religiously motivated witch hunts of the Middle Ages.

Although he wasn’t much of a religious person, Remus found the small, local church community they were a part of comforting. The priest, a portly, friendly man called Father Baines, had known Remus since he was five years old, and could always be counted upon to have beautifully crafted sermons, and offer sage advice on how to best deal with what he called “that ghastly boarding school business”. His wife was called Joanna, and she and Remus’s mother got on amazingly well, and were on the church committee together. In the following days, his mother spent almost every waking moment in the kitchen, cooking large, festive dishes for both the charity Christmas dinner the church was organising, and the Christmas dinner they were supposed to be having with family.

They spent Christmas Day, in the end, at Remus’s aunt’s home in Manchester. She lived a four hour drive each way normally, but while they left home at six o’clock in the morning, in an effort to beat the holiday traffic, they still only arrived at a quarter past one. Once there, his mother practically leapt out of the car in her hurry to get into the kitchen, leaving Remus and his father to carry the pots and pans full of food she’d already prepared into his Aunt’s home, which was filled to the brim with his mother’s side of the family. Christmas dinner was cosy and festive, with a roast turkey that smelled richly of cloves and thyme, and a beautiful, four-layer chocolate cake that only Aunt Madeline could make so very well. This year, Remus was given his seventh year school books as a present, the list of which had been sent to his father early by Professor McGonagall. Remus was overjoyed, alternating between playing hide-and-seek with his nieces and nephews, and leafing through his books in awe.

The next day, Remus drove back home. Even though he wouldn’t have his license for another year, he had been driving his mother’s car for over three years now. Every summer since he was thirteen, Remus drove up to the nearest farm, easily two hours away, and asked for a job. If he was successful – which he usually was, as the farmers knew him as a hard, strong worker – he would borrow her car and set off each day delivering fruit, vegetables and dairy products to the surrounding villages. Not only did it help his parents out with Hogwarts fees, it allowed Remus to save some money for himself, which he would inevitably end up using throughout the school year to replace things that were broken or simply worn out. In an effort to save more of his sometimes meagre pay, Remus would ask for a small contribution towards petrol from his employers, which most were happy to give.

The drive back home was uneventful, the roads thankfully far less busy, and Remus spent the rest of Christmas break catching up on the homework he couldn’t get to due to the full last time. He also got a head start on his work for next year, taking notes from his new books in preparation for his NEWTs next year. He had tested into five of the advanced classes Hogwarts offered, like Advanced Charms, which were aimed at creating a deeper understanding of the theory and practise behind each subject. In addition, he had chosen to take five of the electives offered at Hogwarts, of which Ancient Runes was his favourite.

The only subject Remus had chosen to drop was Care of Magical Creatures, because Professor Kettleburn had barely been able to hide his excitement when Remus had taken the class in his third year. It had made Remus feel put upon and watched, so he dropped it going into year four and he had never looked back. He had also tested out of Advanced Potions, but that was something he could live with, as it was easily one subject he’d never been too much of a star in, and he found regular Potions classes challenging enough.

With eleven subjects filling his timetable, biweekly Prefect patrols, weekly Prefect meetings, and tutoring once, sometimes twice, a week, Remus had very limited time available to do his homework each week. This meant that he was careful with his time, planning it minutely on a calendar he had drawn for himself, and spent a lot of time making sure he did his work in advance, especially if the full moon was coming up. At any given time, he was likely to be two weeks ahead of schedule; some Professors were kind enough to give him his assignments before the rest of the class, so he usually had the same amount of time to work on them as his fellow students between full moons.

Realistically, he knew there was little chance anyone would want to hire him, given his affliction, but he didn’t want to give his future employers a reason to add “laziness” to that list. He, sometimes naively, hoped that someone like Professor Dumbledore would see past the fact that he was a werewolf, and give him a job based solely on his grades, which were easily the highest in his year. And a very small part of him hoped that his appointment as a Prefect meant that he might have a chance at getting the position of Head Boy next year. He knew, however, that it was more likely to go either to the Slytherin Prefect – a tall, quiet boy called Isa Shafiq – or the Hufflepuff Prefect, Archelaos Beirne, whom Remus often studied with.

The six days between Christmas and the New Year’s Eve passed, in Remus’s opinion, alarmingly quickly, and on January 3rd, his trunk fully packed in the boot, his mother drove him to King’s Cross station in London. Although Remus enjoyed being home, to a certain extent, he always enjoyed travelling back to school. Despite the fact that the full moon was three weeks away, his mother had been hovering over him, making far too much food, and insisting he come to church on New Year’s Day, which Remus had done, albeit a bit resentfully, focusing his attention on the looming, glass-stained window the whole time, and purposefully refusing to play the church organ.

Presently, he was saying goodbye to his mother, who was fussing with his hair and pressing a bundle of packed sandwiches into his waiting hands. Remus, realising he should at least attempt to make some sort of effort to reassure her, smiled. ‘Mum,’ he said, softly, stopping her in the middle of a sentence, ‘thank you for driving me.’

She smiled up at him, beautifully. ‘Remus, be careful,’ she said, as she always did, and kissed him on the cheek. She had gone with him onto the platform, but she never felt very comfortable standing around with all the wizarding families, and she had chosen to hang back beside the Prefect compartment, which Remus had to board and stay in, if at least during the start of the train journey. His first patrol of the New Year would be on the Hogwarts Express, as it always was.

‘Thanks,’ Remus said, smiling back. The livid scar that had graced his cheek at the beginning of the holidays had become less intense against his pale skin, and he had been able to smile again without too much pain just after Christmas. ‘You should probably get back. I have to board.’

‘Of course, darling,’ she said, and stepped away. She waved uncertainly when she reached the ticket office, which Remus returned, and then he carried his suitcase onto the train, stowing it neatly in the small storage room that lived next to the Prefects compartment, which magically sized itself to fit the luggage of all of those travelling on the train with an official Hogwarts badge. When he entered the compartment, he found that the Head Girl was already there, talking to a handful of Prefects.

‘There you are, Remus,’ Sangeetha said, warmly. ‘I was just about to pair people up for patrols. Any preference?’

Remus shrugged, indifferently, and found himself, in the end, paired up with a surly fifth year Ravenclaw Prefect called Rodgers. Remus knew him vaguely, but they had never been too fond of each other, for reasons that remained unexplained. They were due to patrol the back of the train and, about two hours into their journey, they made their way over there in silence. Patrolling on the train was something that didn’t require that much attention: you popped your head into each compartment, confiscated anything that belonged on Filch’s list, and docked any points for rule-breaking.

Just as they were reaching the end of the train, one of the compartment doors slid open, and a student fell out into a crumpled heap. Alarmed, Remus stepped forward, motioned for Rodgers to help up the student, and looked in the compartment, his wand raised. He somehow wasn’t too surprised to find Peter Pettigrew, James Potter and Sirius Black in there, together. Pettigrew looked pale and drawn, Potter looked slightly amused, but Black was defiant, his grey eyes mercurial as they glared up at him. Remus looked back at the student with Rodgers, a Slytherin boy he only vaguely recognised, and then back at the three boys that occupied the compartment.   

‘Care to explain?’ Remus asked, raising his eyebrows.

Black stood up, suddenly, and said, with a tone tinged with pureblood superiority, ‘Fuck off, Lupin, I’m not in the mood.’

Pettigrew opened his mouth to say something to Black, but closed it again after Potter gave him a pointed look. Rodgers, meanwhile, had helped the Slytherin boy to his feet, but he seemed disgusted at having needed the help in the first place, and he stalked off, making haste despite a noticeable limp. Rodgers stared at him, and then back at Remus, shrugging. Remus noticed these interactions, and looked up at Black, who was still looking at him, defiant, as if daring him to do something about this.

‘Twenty points from Gryffindor,’ Remus responded, calmly. ‘Fighting is not allowed on the train.’

Black’s face twisted up into an ugly scowl and he stormed past, purposefully ramming his shoulder into Remus’s before he stepped out into the corridor, and headed in the direction of the bathrooms. Remus didn’t flinch – he was used to heavier, sharper pain due to the full moon – but he looked at Potter, both eyebrows raised. Potter sighed, shook his head, and stepped carefully into the corridor, following Black.

‘Sorry,’ said Pettigrew, in a small voice. ‘He gets like that sometimes.’

‘It’s kind of you to apologise,’ Remus responded, ‘but it’s not your fault.’

‘No, it was _Snivellus’s_ fault,’ Pettigrew said, his voice growing a bit in volume as he looked up at Remus. His eyes were pleading, as if urging Remus to see that this was all a big misunderstanding. ‘Not Sirius’s.’

Remus ignored this. He had been told that, as a Prefect, it was usually better if one didn’t take sides, or dissect stories too much. ‘Is anyone else hurt?’

‘No,’ Pettigrew responded, but there was a set to his jaw that hadn’t been there before when he looked up at Remus. It left Remus with the distinct feeling that he’d just lost Pettigrew’s favour, as quickly as he had just lost Black and Potter’s, if he had even had it in the first place. ‘We’re fine.’

‘All right,’ Remus said, lowering his wand. ‘Train arrives in about an hour,’ he added, a bit unnecessarily, and slid the compartment closed behind him as he joined Rodgers in the corridor to finish their patrol.

* * *

Although not forgotten, Remus tucked this interaction with the boys that called themselves the Marauders in the back corner of his mind, because once classes started again, he had little time to focus on anything else besides his overly-full schedule. His high workload was stifling, at times, so he was happy to finish tutoring lessons with Lily Evans, who had finally mastered Switching Spells. Despite not really having much time, he agreed, at Professor McGonagall’s behest, to take on another fifth year student; a Hufflepuff girl called Florence. As he had promised, Remus had also gone to his head of house, Professor Flitwick, and was meeting with him once a week to discuss the article he had started working on when Remus had been in the Hospital Wing. All this left Remus with just one free evening per week to do his homework, and resulted in the fact that, not for the first time, he was overtired.

It was currently Monday evening, one day before the full moon, and Remus emerged from the library after a long study session for Arithmancy. He took a left, holding his books close to his chest, and pressed his palm softly against his left eye in an attempt to stop it from twitching from fatigue. Soon, he found himself in front of the abandoned classroom he had shown Sirius Black, and he dropped his left hand, using it to push down the handle and open the door. The room was quiet, and Remus locked the door with his wand behind him, dropping his bag onto the floor.

He sighed, stretching his shoulders, and as he walked towards the window to open it he found, to his immense surprise, that it was already open. He looked down at the small tower and found that Sirius Black was stood looking over the lake, his shoulder-length hair whipping around his face in the frosty January wind. Remus sighed inaudibly, and made to turn around again, but it seemed like Black had sensed his presence, somehow, because he turned around and the two of them locked eyes.

There was a moment wherein they just stood there for a while, looking at each other, and then Remus stepped away from the window and made his way towards the door. He was tired and achy and not in any mood to deal with Black right now, but just as he had his bag slung over his shoulder, and his books picked up, and his hand on the handle, he heard a slightly breathless voice behind him say, ‘Lupin.’

So he turned and found Sirius Black sitting on the window sill, his tie half undone and his hair windswept and messy, and he just locked his jaw and nodded. ‘Black,’ he acknowledged, and then he pushed down the handle, and let himself out of the room. With slightly more haste than normal, he made his way past the library, intent on returning to his dormitory to try and get some more studying in before he had to be in the Hospital Wing tonight.

There was a hand on his shoulder and Remus whipped around with alarmingly fast reflexes that were already more wolf than human, his wand making contact with a clearly defined jaw. Of course, it was Black who was stood in front of him now, his grey eyes wide, and his hands slowly going up in a gesture of surrender. Black seemed to realise that Remus wasn’t really in the mood for any sort of comment, and waited calmly until he had lowered his wand.

‘Sorry,’ Remus said, his voice eerily calm and polite. Then, hesitating just a little bit, he added, ‘I’m just tired.’

‘You look it,’ Black said, his upper-class London accent thick and plummy around the vowels.

Remus looked up at him and then pocketed his wand. ‘Sorry,’ he said, again, and made every attempt not to make it sound as irritated as he felt.

‘Just – I wanted to –’ Black said, running a hand through his hair, and then, ‘Sorry.’

Remus stared at him. ‘What?’

‘Sorry for the train,’ Black responded, looking almost like an unruly child who had been told to apologise by a parent.

Remus blinked and then attempted to school his expression into a neutral one. ‘That’s all right. Thank you. Sorry for the points I took, but, well,’ he tailed off, vaguely.

Black’s mouth did a kind of pursing movement, as if almost indicating that he didn’t approve of what Remus had said, but Remus really wanted out of his conversation, away from Black, and go to bed. He was just so very tired –

There was a sway to his movement, quite suddenly, and then there was a steadying hand on his shoulder and Remus’s eyes fluttered shut and then open, again.

‘You all right?’ Black’s voice asked. His face was quite close, and Remus took an unsteady step backwards once this registered.

‘Yes,’ Remus managed. ‘I think I’ll just go back to my dorm.’

‘Are you –’ Black said, but Remus was determined to cut their conversation short, and said, firmly, ‘Thanks, Black.’

‘Right, I mean –’ Black tried again, but Remus raised his shoulder to dislodge the warm hand that was resting against it, and turned round, ducking into a nearby passageway that would get him to his dormitory, determinedly not looking back, leaving a confused Sirius Black in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the surname Shafiq from the list of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which is why it may be familiar to some. The name of Remus’s surly Prefect partner, Rodgers, is another borrowed one, this time from one of my own stories, [Carry You Over To A New Morning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7678867/chapters/17490625). Despite the fact that Rodgers isn’t the most likeable of people, I am fond of him, and found him immensely suitable to this chapter.
> 
> Thank you for all your sweet words and kind encouragement. You make this so amazing.


	6. Chapter 5 - to control

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 5: _to control_

The last of January bled into the next month in a hazy blur of Hospital Wing visits and homework, and before Remus knew it, it was a frigid February evening, and he was stood in Professor Flitwick’s office discussing the article they had been working on together. Remus’s research was fanned out across several student desks; sheets of parchments covered, front and back, by the notes he had been taking over the last few weeks, and various books propped open on relevant pages, marked with small wafer-thin bookmarks Remus made himself out of scraps of leftover parchment. Professor Flitwick’s own research was spread out over his own desk, enlarged for the occasion, and the pair of them stood surveying their combined notes, deep in discussion.

Professor Flitwick was pointing at some obscure runic notes he had hastily sketched in the margins of a previous draft of the article he was writing for _Challenges in Charming_. ‘It seems,’ he said, in his familiar squeaky voice, ‘to be the only possible explanation.’

‘That makes no sense, though, Professor,’ Remus responded, his fingers blindly searching for and eventually finding a book that he had gotten from the library, and pointing at a passage about the runic frameworks of Charms. The framework made up the biggest part of the article, and it was therefore, naturally, proving to be the most tricky to figure out. ‘Many of the texts put “isaz” in the same context as “sowilo”, but I’ve not been able to find a widely accepted translation for it.’ 

Flitwick was quiet for a moment, looking between the passage Remus had found and his own notes, which had many possible meanings for the rune “isaz”. It was widely translated as meaning something related to sun – which was what the accompanying rune, “sowilo”, stood for – but some translations believed it to mean frost or ice. In this case, the ancient poems provided little information, most of the texts being simply too ambiguous. But whatever its meaning was, the rune “isaz” played an important role in the particular category of Charms Flitwick was researching, collectively referred to as the Expansion Charms.

‘You’re correct, Mr Lupin,’ Flitwick said eventually, ‘which means it’s starting to become more than necessary to make a new translation of the poem I’ve been basing all of this on.’

Remus looked at him, hesitant, and then back down at his notes. ‘That would probably be the best solution, but that’s highly advanced –’

‘– translating. Yes, I am aware. It would require the help of Professor Babbling, I think,’ Flitwick said, smiling up at him. ‘I’ve already discussed the matter with her and she would be happy to work on the translation with you, if you would be willing. I would, of course, credit you in the article.’

Remus’s mouth dropped open. His name, printed in _Challenges in Charming_? He was only sixteen, and having his name appear alongside an article written by Professor Flitwick would be an amazing honour; one he had never bestowed before. And Remus would know; whenever a copy of _Challenges in Charming_ was donated to the Hogwarts library that they were already in possession of, Madam Pince would allow Remus to have it, if he helped her file books for at least a week. He was now the proud owner of two hundred issues of the magazine, which he kept pristinely on the bookshelf in his trunk, and he knew Flitwick had published articles in at least fifty of them. ‘I would – I would be honoured, sir.’

‘Good,’ Flitwick replied. He stepped off the stool he had been standing on, and waved his wand. Swiftly, the papers on his desk sorted themselves into neat stacks, some disappearing into thin air, others into folders similar to the one Remus had purchased for himself from Scrivenshaft’s. A breath later, the desk was neat and clean, slowly shrinking down to its original size. Flitwick turned to Remus. ‘Professor Babbling has said she will owl you for an appointment.’

Remus, who had begun to gather his own notes, and was filing them neatly into the folder he kept in his bag, looked up at his favourite teacher and offered him a rare smile. ‘Thank you very much, Professor.’

Flitwick returned the smile, his friendly eyes crinkling up at the corners. He made Remus promise to contact him as soon as the translation was finished, whereupon they would make a new appointment, and then saw him to the door, and wished him a good night.

‘Good night, Professor,’ Remus returned, slinging his bag over his shoulder, carefully pressing the rest of his things to his chest, and then turning around to make his way back to the common room. He checked his watch and found that it was about two and a half hours after dinner, just barely the start of curfew, and he did a quick calculation in his head. He would have time enough, he decided, to head back to the dormitory, get rid of his bag, and be on time to meet his patrol partner with about ten minutes to spare. That seemed decent enough.

He nodded to himself, and then started moving towards the end of the corridor into a corner which would, at least on Tuesdays, as it was today, lead to the western part of the castle, and would easily be the quickest way back to the common room. His eyes were strained and he blinked to dislodge the uncomfortable, slightly pressing feeling, briefly wondering whether or not he should take his mum’s advice and visit the optometrist in the village to get his eyes examined next summer.

Distracted, he rounded the corner without looking first, and found himself colliding, hard, with another person. He blinked and staggered backwards from the impact, his vision, for a moment, blindingly, brightly white. He pressed his palm to his lip, which was stinging and, from the sudden, unexpectedly metallic taste in his mouth, presumably bleeding. He felt his lip pull, protesting, against the rough skin of his palm, and he pressed his lip almost back against his teeth, and found his wand. He swallowed the blood with a bit of a wince – never a taste he could get used to – and removed his hand.  

‘ _Episkey_ ,’ he said quickly, and felt the fragile, torn skin of his lip knit itself together again, and the bleeding, thankfully, stopped.

Finding no other injuries, he looked up, and found Sirius Black standing in front of him. He looked no worse for the wear, but was sporting a small, sharp cut just above his eyebrow, where Remus’s forehead had collided with it. His grey eyes were bleary for a second – he must’ve been impacted harder by the collision than Remus had been, or perhaps Remus could just handle the pain of it better – but then they focused. Remus held up his wand in question, but Black shook his head, pulling from his pocket a starchy white handkerchief embroidered with the flickering pattern of the constellation he was a part of, and pressing it carefully to the cut.

‘Sorry,’ Remus offered.

‘Ah, shit,’ Black said in reply, frowning a little bit, which looked slightly comical, due to the handkerchief, which flickered softly in the dim light of the corridor. ‘My fault, really, I wasn’t really paying attention where I was going. You all right, though?’

It came out as a question and Remus held up his wand in response, and then pocketed it when Black nodded. ‘Might want to keep that pressed to it a while longer,’ Remus offered, checking to see if he hadn’t dropped any notes, and then looking back towards Black.

Black then pulled the handkerchief away from the cut, seemed wholly unconcerned to find it stained, and pocketed it again. ‘It’ll heal,’ he said, shrugging. The cut stood out against his pale skin but it had already stopped bleeding, which indicated it was, at least, shallow.

Remus opened his mouth to wish him a good night, perhaps even a second apology, but Black interrupted him. ‘Fancy a fag?’ he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking up at him earnestly.

‘Oh,’ Remus replied, shocked for a moment at the unexpectedness of all of this. ‘Thank you, but no, I’ve got patrol in a second.’ After a brief second of hesitation, he added, ‘You might want to return to your dormitory, though, curfew is in a short while.’

Black gave him a magnificent smile, which suggested at all kinds of things, but said, his voice sounding incredibly sincere, ‘Right, thanks, Lupin.’

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Black’s smile merely broadened and he gave a little wave, side-stepping deftly past him and making his way down the corridor. Remus blinked after him and then looked back at his watch. It told him, quite clearly, that if he didn’t get a move on, he was going to be late, so he bit the inside of his cheek, did the responsible thing, and continued on to his dormitory.

* * *

It was a Saturday, and Remus was sat with his back against the massive stone wall of the room he had taken Black to, that one time. His school supplies were laid out neatly around him, rows of books and pages of notes, and he was frowning, attempting to concentrate on the rough, runic translation he was meant to give to Professor Babbling the next day. It was the weekend before Valentine’s Day, so the castle was quiet, many choosing to go to the village to celebrate, and the only sound that Remus could currently hear was the faint, whispy scratch of the nib of his quill as it scratched on the parchment balanced against his knees, the threadbare, snowy, grey feathers of it looking very pathetic indeed.

He liked this room for its tranquillity. Despite the fact that it was so close to the library, it was almost always empty. Remus liked that it was out of the way and, sometimes, preferred its solitude to the library, which could get quite busy, especially during exam time. His own end-of-year exams were still a little while away, but his classes were getting slightly more difficult to keep up with, the level of knowledge expected by his Professors steadily growing, and the amount of time it took to get his homework completed also increasing. It wasn’t to the point where he couldn’t manage, just yet, but it was close, and he was working long hours in the weekend to make sure he was fully caught up.

The door flew open unexpectedly, hitting the wall with a loud bang, and Remus looked up, startled out of his translation by the appearance of Sirius Black, whose stormy, brooding look was instantly lifted off his face when he spotted Remus sitting there. ‘All right, Lupin?’ he asked, closing the door behind him with a lazy flick of his wand. His hair was wind-swept, the jacket slung over his shoulders made of black leather, and he was smiling.

Remus blinked, but nodded.

‘Just came for a smoke,’ Black elaborated, making his way over to the window and opening it with practised ease, which belied the fact that maybe this room wasn’t always as abandoned as Remus thought it to be. Black, meanwhile, had clambered onto the window sill, and was looking back at him over his shoulder. ‘Coming?’ he asked, and his tone was surprisingly raw and earnest, so Remus hesitated, just for a moment, glancing down at his translation, and then nodded again, folding it between his books and getting up with the aid of the wall.

He followed Black to the window and found that he had already jumped onto the stones below, and had made his way to the part of the tower which looked out into the forest. Remus vaulted over the sill, himself, and then made his way over to where Black was standing, his arms leaning out from a gap between the wall, wrists crossed oddly over each other, smoke curling from the end of a cigarette, which he had lit and was just bringing to his mouth when Remus joined him.

‘Shit holiday, anyway, Valentine’s, isn’t it,’ Black said darkly, while Remus leaned his back against the wall of the tower, crossing his arms over his jumper, which was more of a dimmed navy than the rich, royal blue it had originally been, the colour seeping out from having been washed one too many times.

Remus didn’t really say anything – he honestly didn’t really know what to say – just looked to the side and found Black watching him. He shrugged, for want of a response, but Black didn’t really appear to mind, just looked out at the forest again, which looked dark and stormy just in front of them.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Black said, as if that was a logical follow-up to the sentence he’d just uttered, and found a packet of expensive, French cigarettes in his pocket, pulling it out and offering it to Remus. ‘Did you want one?’

‘No, thank you,’ Remus responded, with a slight shake of his head.

Black shrugged indifferently and slid the cigarettes back into the back pocket of his faded blue denim jeans, looking out at the forest without appearing to really see anything. ‘Homework?’ he asked, eventually, and Remus dithered for a moment, wondering if he should, if he were allowed to say, and then he shook his head.

‘Project,’ he said, softly.

Black raised an eyebrow, but grinned around his cigarette, which he pulled out of his mouth. ‘Do tell.’

‘I,’ Remus said, eloquently, ‘I’m helping Professor Flitwick do some research.’

Black looked completely flabbergasted. ‘Really?’ he asked, and his voice sounded surprised. ‘Wow,’ he said then, ‘er, good? I mean, that’s nice?’ His voice carried notes of genuine concern, mixed with curiosity that sounded like he could almost keep at bay, and amusement. It was a curious sort of sound, but it made perfect sense to Remus, who was unsurprised to find it aimed at him.  

Remus smiled. ‘Yeah, it is.’

Black was grinning at him, looking triumphant in a way Remus hadn’t seen before, and then flicked his half-smoked cigarette down the tower, where it soon fell out of sight. Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Black held up a hand. ‘I know, I know, throwing fags off one of the towers will probably cost me a hundred thousand points.’

‘I wasn’t going to actually tell you that,’ Remus said, for the first time in his life actually saying something before thinking it over, but Black didn’t appear to notice his impulsiveness, and was smiling. ‘Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on, Lupin. I’ll let you get back to your work, I’m late as is.’ He turned and made his way back to the window, intent on climbing back up into the room.

Remus, who took this to mean that Black was late for a date in Hogsmeade, looked after him and then opened his mouth to say, ‘Have fun.’

Black turned round when he had almost reached the end of the tower and grinned at him, before climbing up, onto the windowsill, and disappearing out of sight. Remus stood by himself a few moments, blinking, and wondering what on earth had gotten into him.

‘You know,’ came a shout from the window, and Remus looked to find Black standing by the window, ‘you’re an all right sort, Lupin.’

In response, Remus merely raised an eyebrow, but this seemed enough for Black, who gave him another ear-splitting grin, and then disappeared back into the castle with a little wave over his shoulder. Remus shook his head, but found, much to his surprise, that he was smiling.

* * *

That next Saturday found Remus sat in the room again, working on the newest version of his translation, while the rain sheeted down, hard, against the window outside. Professor Babbling had had a contact in Romania who had managed to produce some sort of obscure book of ancient runic poems and the two of them had poured over it in great detail after Remus’s last class yesterday, coming to the conclusion that at least two of the poems in it were worth translating. Babbling had taken the longer, fourteen-page poem, leaving Remus the shorter, two-page poem, which was proving to be incredibly tricky to translate.

He bit his lip and crossed out a part of the translation, fingers blindly reaching for the dictionary which was meant to be somewhere close to his left foot, but proved to be in the hands of Sirius Black, who was sitting down in front of him and holding out the book to him, instead.

‘Here you go,’ he offered, kindly.

‘Thanks,’ Remus said, wondering how he’d missed him coming in, but taking the proffered book from his hands, anyway.

Black slid down the wall next to him, and looked on as Remus opened the book to the right page to check his translation. Remus let out a sigh when he found he’d missed the fourth definition, and copied it, absently, from the text onto his parchment, which was filling up completely with his notes on the translation.

‘Riveting stuff, that,’ Black said, softly, earning himself a small smile from Remus, who looked up and found that Black had lit another cigarette.

‘Probably shouldn’t be doing that inside the castle,’ Remus offered, by way of greeting.

‘Want one?’ Black said, ignoring Remus’s comment completely and holding out a cigarette for him to take.

‘Yeah,’ Remus said, taking it from him. ‘Yeah, thanks.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long time to settle into place; I’m sorry.
> 
> Fun, nerdy Ravenclaw fact: Expansion Charms are the exact opposite of the Containment Charms, an invention of my own, and one frequently referred to in my other stories.


	7. Chapter 6 - to join

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 6:  _to join_

The last two weeks of February were mind-numbingly cold, wet, and thunderous. The full moon fell on one of the last days, and resulted in a large, twisting, ugly scar on Remus’s right calf, where the wolf had attempted to gnaw one of its own legs off. The beginning of March thus arrived with a blundering sort of uncertainty that matched Remus’s stay in the Hospital Wing, which seemed to last an eternity. Eventually, despite a slight but noticeable limp which would only really dull with time, Madam Pomfrey dismissed him from hospital, leaving him with a mountain of homework to catch up on.

Although exams wouldn’t officially start for another two months, his Professors were trying to cover as much material in the remaining weeks as they possibly could. Alongside his homework and his catch-up work, Remus had also been scheduled extra Prefect patrols to make up for the ones he’d missed while he was in the Hospital Wing. He was also still working on the translation for Flitwick’s article with Professor Babbling, meeting with her once a week and, finally, his tutoring had expanded to accommodate a fifth-year Slytherin student, who Professor McGonagall believed was heading towards failing his Transfiguration O.W.L entirely. Most days, Remus would wake up at five in the morning, after three, sometimes four hours of sleep. He would sit through his classes with a bleary-eyed determination, filling sheets of parchment paper with notes and, after all of his other commitments had finished, working until it was so late that he was the only one left in the common room.

That Thursday, on the day of the new moon, Remus was sat at breakfast, his large Arithmancy book propped up against the milk jug. He wanted to get a head start on the reading he was due to complete in two weeks, because he wouldn’t have any time to complete it then. Suddenly, a brown, smart-looking tawny owl landed neatly on top of his book, its talons holding out a large envelope. Surprised, Remus took the letter, and fed Nessa, their family owl, a bit of his leftover eggs. Then, he carefully slit open the letter with his wand, and read,

_Thursday, March 9_

_Remus,_

_I’ve sent this letter with Nessa, and I hope it finds you on time. I am sorry to tell you like this, but we decided it was really the only way. Sadly, your grandfather, Mabon, has passed away. He died last Monday, in his sleep, and your father has taken time off of work to help your grandmother settle his affairs._

_I’ve attached a letter for Professor Flitwick, your Head of House, which I hope you will be able to give to him. Your father said that it should be permission enough to allow you to come to the funeral, which will be held tomorrow morning. Your father assured me there was a way for you to travel out of the castle by means of the fireplaces, if I understood that correctly, so at least that part’s covered._

_I know you haven’t seen your grandfather or your grandmother, Mairwen, since you were a small child, and I know that tomorrow is your birthday, but I do still think she, and your father, would be grateful for your support._

_Again, I’m sorry to tell you like this, and I hope you’re not too upset, darling._

_Love,  
Mum _

Remus read and then reread the letter, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach as the words began to sink in. His grandfather was dead. Remus had never known someone who had died before, and even though he hadn’t seen his grandfather for years – Mabon hadn’t been very pleased about his parents’ marriage – he was still family and Remus had cared for him. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft nip on his finger and he looked up, finding that Nessa had settled on his arm.

‘Sorry, Ness,’ he said, softly. ‘Hang on, all right?’

He opened his bag and searched around for a quill, making quite a mess in the process, but not really caring too much. Once found, he took the quill out of the bag and fished the letter his mother had included for Professor Flitwick out of the envelope. He set the letter aside, and then pushed his plate aside, creating some room for him to write. He took his mother’s letter, turned it over, and wrote, “ _Mum – I’ll try. Tell Dad I’m sorry. - R_ ”. He rolled up the letter, conjuring a neat, thin ribbon to tie around it, and gave it to Nessa, who clasped it tightly in her claws. ‘Get this to Mum for me, will you?’ he asked, softly, and Nessa hooted, stretched her wings, and flew away. Remus heaved a big sigh, and carefully tucked the letter for Professor Flitwick into his Charms book. What a way to start the day.  

* * *

Thankfully, Charms was his very first class of the day. At the end of the lesson, Remus asked for a word with Professor Flitwick, who seemed surprised, but nodded. After his classmates had filed out into the corridor, Remus silently handed over his mother’s letter. Flitwick read it over carefully, twice, and then looked up at Remus with a deep, profound kind of sadness in his eyes. ‘Of course you may go to the funeral, Remus,’ he said gently, using Remus’s first name for the first time since Remus had known him. ‘I’ll be sure to speak with your other teachers. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem if you miss tomorrow’s classes. Why don’t you leave tonight, just before dinner? I’ll wait for you in my office; you can use my fireplace.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Remus responded.

Flitwick gave him a kind smile, and then asked, ‘Do you need me to write you a note for your next class?’

Grateful, Remus nodded.

It was only then, just as he was leaving the Charms classroom, that Remus realised that his next class was Potions, and that he hadn’t had a chance to re-read the essay that was due today. Since Potions was easily his worst subject, Remus was always extra careful with his homework, making sure to both research his essays thoroughly and to read outside of the required reading list. All this extra effort always ensured his average grade hovered around the “Exceeds Expectations” mark. His Potions grade pulled his grade average of “Outstanding” across all of his classes, and his electives, down by a point, but still, Remus carried on, and did his best.

Since his brewing skills were none too good, one of the things Remus could do to ensure a passing grade was to do well on his essays. In his third year, he created a specific checklist for tackling his Potions essays that he would follow to a t. He would begin by researching the subject thoroughly, taking copious amounts of notes. Then, he would pare down his notes and draw out an essay plan. Next, he would write a rough draft of the essay, look the draft over for mistakes, write the final version of the essay and, when that was done, he would lay it aside. The day after he had finished writing it, he would reread it, and remove any mistakes, and he would also reread it on the day it was due to see if he might have missed something. Since the two days for re-reading his essay were usually quite far apart, this system would always ensure that he would make no mistakes. Because he usually scored full marks on his essays, his grade for the class would balance out, and he could get by, even if he wasn’t the best brewer in his year by a long shot.

But today’s surprising breakfast revelation, and the conversation with Flitwick, meant that he hadn’t done his second reread. He glanced down at his watch and found that even if he had wanted to, he had no time, because class was already well underway. Remus bit his lip, feeling annoyed, but realised there was no way he could fix the situation. He took a deep breath and set off in the direction of the dungeons at a brisk pace, hoping to still catch at least part of Slughorn’s lecture on Felix Felicis, which he had been looking forward to learning about for the better part of two years now.

* * *

After his classes had finished for the day, Remus spent a far-too-short and somewhat hurried hour and a half in the library, in an attempt to get as much studying done as he could, because he would lose most of the weekend. He returned to his dormitory and packed as much of his unfinished homework as would fit into his worn leather shoulder bag, alongside the bare necessities for an overnight stay at home. He walked down to the Great Hall with one of his dorm mates, a lanky bloke called Allard, but said goodbye to him at the bottom of the fourth floor staircase, and headed up again, towards the West Tower.

He arrived at Professor Flitwick’s office at around half six, about half an hour before dinner. Remus was told to enter after a brief knock and found that Flitwick was sat at his desk, grading papers. His office offered a magnificent view of the mountains, which rose up somewhat threateningly towards an ink-black sky. Flitwick gave Remus a fond smile and left his desk to meet him at the fireplace. ‘Right on time, Mr Lupin,’ he said. ‘I’ve been able to borrow some Floo Powder from Professor Sprout, which I’ve collected in this bag for you. It should be enough to take you to your parents’ home and back to Hogwarts again.’

Remus, surprised, took the small, leather drawstring pouch Flitwick was holding out. ‘Professor Dumbledore thought,’ Flitwick continued, ‘that it would be best if you spent an additional day with your family. We will expect you back here at the castle Saturday afternoon, at around three o’clock. I’ll be waiting for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Remus managed.

Flitwick smiled at him, and gestured towards the fireplace. ‘Have a good journey, Mr Lupin, and please offer my condolences to your family. Remember, Saturday afternoon, at three o’clock.’

‘Right. Thank you, sir,’ Remus said. He tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire that bathed Flitwick’s office in a warm, amber glow, and saw the fire fold in upon itself, carving out a small space for him alongside flickering, bright green flames. Swallowing, Remus stepped into the fireplace. ‘Brynmawr House!’ he shouted, almost missing Flitwick’s raised hand of goodbye. Remus felt his body spin around as he was carried past countless of fireplaces, which blurred by fast and hard. Then, suddenly, the spinning stopped, and he was stood in the too-small fireplace of his parents’ living room.

‘Oh!’ his mother said. She dropped her knitting onto the floor, her hand pressed to her chest in surprise. ‘My goodness, Remus, you gave me a fright!’ She made some sort of vague gesture which meant to express her discomfort, but which was missed on Remus. Hope Lupin then stood up, retrieved her knitting from the floor, and went over to help him clamber out of the fireplace, which was in desperate need of a thorough dusting. She fussed over his clothes, taking his bag from him. ‘Did you have dinner yet?’ she asked, and without even waiting for an answer, she ushered him into the kitchen.

‘Sit,’ she said, pushing him down into a chair at the kitchen table. Remus watched her, silently, as she flitted around the kitchen, gathering supplies. Finally, she was at his side, spooning a generous helping of a deliciously smelling shepherd’s pie onto a plate, which she put down in front of him. ‘Eat,’ she said, running a hand through his hair affectionately. ‘Oh, darling,’ she said, when he gave her a grateful smile. ‘It’s good to have you home.’

* * *

The next morning, Remus was awoken by his alarm, which bleated, with a disorienting loudness, in his left ear. He turned over in bed, pressed his palm down upon the ringing silver bells, and turned the clock face toward him. He pulled the alarm a bit closer until his eyes could properly focus on the time and, with a sharp tug of the sheets, sat up straight in bed. _Shit_ , he thought, putting his feet over the side of the bed and expecting to feel the freezing, stone floor of Ravenclaw Tower beneath him. Instead, there was warm carpet, and he frowned, disoriented and sleepy. Then, it hit him. He was home. Slowly, the rest of the room came into focus, and Remus sighed, feeling a headache prick at the back of his mind.

It was just past six in the morning; the funeral would be held at his father’s family estate in Scotland at around eleven. His grandmother had apparently managed to arrange for a series of Portkeys to be made in anticipation of the massive amount of support she had received following Mabon’s death, and Remus and his father would share one that would leave at nine, which meant that Remus had about two hours before he had to leave and go downstairs. _Well_ , he thought vaguely, _may as well_. He reached over and found his bag, which was stood against his nightstand, and fished out his books and notes.

By half eight, he had finished all of his Astronomy homework and was halfway through the translation he was due to discuss with Professor Babbling next week, when there was a soft knock on the door. ‘Remus?’ his mother asked. ‘Are you up? Your father is waiting.’

‘Right, sorry,’ he responded, getting out of bed and quickly changing into the dress robes he had laid out last night. They were black, stiff with starch, and slightly too short on him, which was too be expected, as they had once belonged to his father. He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and went downstairs, heading into the kitchen.

‘Would you like some breakfast?’ his mother asked.

‘We really don’t have the time,’ Lyall Lupin said crossly. He was stood by the door into the garden, holding a magnificent brooch that Remus had never seen before, and he was glancing impatiently at his watch. ‘We’ve got to be out in the garden in four minutes.’ He threw Remus a look of warning, and then stepped out of the door without saying goodbye to his wife.

‘Right,’ Remus said again. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘No problem, darling,’ she said, accepting the kiss he pressed against her cheek with a smile. ‘Good luck. Give my condolences to your grandmother.’

‘I will,’ Remus said, rubbing a hand over her back, and snatching a piece of freshly baked bread off the counter. ‘See you later.’

‘Bye darling,’ his mother responded, with a fond smile, and waved him off.

* * *

The funeral, itself, was held in the estate’s garden, under a massive, black marquee, filled with rows and rows of people. Remus was seated on the front row, next to his father, who was sat beside his grandmother. Having only really met his grandfather a handful of times, Remus learned a lot of new things about him during the ceremony. Mabon Lupin had apparently been quite the character. He had once saved a man from a Lethifold; had personally drafted a law that prevented vampires from holding down any job at the Ministry of Magic; and, above all, had really enjoyed making his own mulled wine. Remus’s father was stood rigid by Remus’s side, his expression unreadable throughout the entire ceremony, and even as the casket was lowered into the ground and sealed tightly by magic. After the ceremony, there would be a small gathering of sorts in the house.

The house, itself, was magnificent. It was made entirely out of a grey stone, which had to have been carved out of the mountain behind it, and it was surrounded by a massive garden, which looked out over the ocean. Inside, it was full of wood panelling and ancient chandeliers; his grandfather’s portrait was hung next to his great-grandfather’s portrait in the hall, overlooking the staircase which led to a second floor. The funeral had been attended by a large number of people, who quickly filled the ground floor of the house, and Remus soon lost his father and grandmother in the crowd. He felt out of place, knowing no one and not knowing what was expected of him.

Presently, he was standing next to a large glass cabinet, which displayed a full set of fine, bone-white china, and he was eating some sort of warm quiche. He was so very lost in his own thoughts, which had drifted towards the essay he had to write this weekend, that he was very startled to find his grandmother, suddenly, in front of him. Mairwen Lupin was tall and almost formidable in a set of expensive black robes. Her brown hair was braided elegantly into a bun at the nape of her neck and her dark green eyes were focused clearly on him.

‘Remus,’ she greeted, simply, and Remus realised, at that moment, that he was unsure how to respond. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her before the funeral, and he hadn’t spoken to her in more than ten years. Her voice, however, Scottish and sharp and no-nonsense, made something tug, softly, at the edge of his memory. Then, she smiled – a beautiful, bashful smile that reached all the way to her eyes. ‘Thank you for being here.’

Remus nodded.

‘I know that today is your birthday,’ she continued, ‘I can’t imagine this whole ordeal is any fun for you. I did get you something, and I do hope you will forgive me if it isn’t the right size.’

A feeling of unreality washed over him as she produced a large, exquisitely wrapped blue and bronze package, which she forced into his hands. Remus looked down at it, shocked, and then back up at her. ‘I –’ he began, somewhat awkwardly, but she waved a dismissive hand.

‘Go on,’ she said, grabbing the porcelain plate out of his hands, ‘it’s not every day your only grandson turns seventeen.’

Remus blinked down at the gift, and opened it, eventually, somewhat awkwardly, under her watchful gaze. It revealed a new, deep blue winter cloak – something he had needed desperately, his father’s own school cloak having been over thirty years old, too short, and filled with holes – and when he slung it over his shoulders, he saw that it fit perfectly. When he looked back up at his grandmother, he saw that she was beaming.

‘It really brings out your eyes,’ she said, fondly, running a hand over the material bunched over his shoulder.

‘I –’ Remus stammered. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said, with a smile. She hesitated ever so slightly, then leaned forward, and pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. ‘Happy birthday, Remus.’

‘Thank you,’ Remus said, again, slightly bewildered.

‘Come see me before you leave, all right?’ she asked, stepping away from him and drawing herself up to her full height. ‘I know your grandfather wasn’t too keen on your parents’ marriage, but I’ve never held such views, and I would love to see more of you all. Including your mother,’ she added, at Remus’s raised eyebrow. ‘She’s been absolutely lovely throughout this whole ordeal. I did tell Mabon he was wrong about her,’ she sniffed, somewhat dismissively, and then disappeared back in the crowd, leaving Remus bewildered.

* * *

They were back home in Wales by nine o’clock that night. The house was warm and inviting, the roaring fire in the living room a soothing comfort against the blisteringly cold wind that had picked up outside. His father had been quiet all the way home, not even noticing the new cloak Remus had been wearing over his funeral robes, and when they entered, his father just hung up his cloak and went into his office, locking the door behind him without a word. Remus hung up his own cloak and, frowning, stepped into the living room. He found his mother sitting by the fire, knitting a scarf.

‘There you are, darling,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘Are you hungry?’

Remus shook his head.

‘Maybe later, then,’ she responded, putting her knitting down on the table and getting up. ‘Was it really awful?’

‘It was fine,’ Remus shrugged. ‘Dad’s locked himself in his study.’

‘Yeah, he’s been a bit moody,’ his mother responded. ‘That’s to be expected. I’ve made cake, if you wanted some?’ she added, hopefully. ‘You’re never really home for your birthday.’

‘Oh, thanks Mum, but I’m just going to go up. I’ve still got a lot of homework.’

‘All right,’ she acquiesced, with a small smile. ‘Up you go, then.’

Remus had already turned around and was half-way up the staircase when she called out his name. He blinked and turned to find her standing at the banister. ‘Are you feeling all right, darling?’ she asked, quietly. ‘You seem tired.’

‘Just busy,’ Remus said. ‘Exams are coming up.’

‘Right,’ she nodded. ‘Okay. Study hard,’ she added, cheerfully.

Remus smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes in response, and went up into his room.

* * *

When he came down for breakfast the next morning after another short night, he found that his mother was in the kitchen already. The countertop was covered in flour and she was carefully pressing a rolled out sheet of pastry into a prepared tin. She looked up from her work when she heard him enter, and smiled. ‘The church is having a dinner tonight,’ she said, by way of greeting. ‘I’ve been up since seven. I hope I didn’t wake you?’

Remus shook his head, walking over to the corner of the kitchen to put the kettle on the hob. ‘That’s all right, I was up at six, doing homework.’

He turned to find his mother looking at him with raised eyebrows. ‘That’s ridiculously early to be doing your homework, Remus. You do need sleep.’

He nodded, vaguely, but didn’t respond. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t hear him come up,’ his mother responded, not looking at him, and pricking holes into the pastry with a fork. ‘He’s probably in the garden.’

Remus leaned against the countertop, watching silently as she covered the pastry with parchment paper and then poured out an entire canister of old beans, which she carefully smoothed out into an even layer to fit the tin. Then, she put the tin into the oven and turned to face him. ‘Still the filling to go, and then that’s done. Can I make you something? Would you like some cake, maybe?’ It sounded hopeful and, for some reason, it rubbed him the wrong way.

‘I’m fine, Mum,’ he said, pouring hot water into a cup and then adding a bag of tea. ‘I just came to get something to drink, and then I’m going back up again.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is skipping breakfast a habit of yours?’ she asked, sternly.

‘No, Mum,’ Remus sighed. ‘Just – I need to finish this today, and it’s taking forever.’

‘What are you working on?’ she asked.

‘Charms,’ he responded, wrapping his hands around his mug, and feeling the heat seep into his fingers. ‘We have to master a complex spell called the Augamenti spell. The idea is you alter the molecular structure of the air around you, and conjure water. I’ve been practising this morning, which I can because Dad’s home, but it’s tricky and I don’t really know the theory, because I missed the class on it because of the full moon. I’ll need to read some extra books from the library on it. Flitwick said it’ll be on our exam.’

His mother looked rather impressed. She loved hearing about magic, and was always a little sad that she had no magic power of her own. ‘Right. When do they expect you back again?’ she asked.

Remus looked at the clock hanging above the door, squinting so as to make out the hands. ‘Er,’ he said, ‘at three, so in about six hours from now. I’ll use the Floo to get back.’

‘Why are you squinting?’ his mother asked, her tone accusing.

‘Mum,’ Remus said, annoyed, tiredness tugging at every bone in his body. ‘I’m _fine_ , stop fussing. I’m going back upstairs.’

‘Fine,’ she responded, obviously stung. ‘Take something to eat with you.’

Remus set his jaw, but accepted the apple she was holding out, and all but fled upstairs to his room.

At precisely three o’clock, Remus stepped into the fireplace at his parents’ cottage and, about a minute and a half later, stepped back out of the fireplace in Flitwick’s office. Flitwick greeted him warmly, asking after his grandmother, whom he apparently knew from some Ministry committee, and wishing him the best of luck with the homework Remus said he still had to do. Then, Remus headed back to Ravenclaw Tower and, after answering a particularly annoying riddle from the wall, was back in his dormitory. Greg Allard, the boy he had walked to dinner with when he left two days ago, looked up from where he was sitting on his bed.

‘All right, Lupin?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Remus responded.

Allard nodded. ‘Oh, by the way, we got our Potions essays back yesterday. Sluggy asked me to give you yours, so I put it on your bed.’

‘Thank you,’ Remus responded, with a nod.

Allard shrugged and went back to reading his Transfiguration book, while Remus headed over towards his own bed. He put his bag down by his bedside table, as he always did, and quickly found his essay, which had been thrown carelessly onto his pillow. He flipped it over, not really knowing what to expect. He knew he had given this essay his best shot, but he also knew that that missed second reread might cost him much more than he was willing to give up. He glanced through the sheets, finally finding Slughorn’s commentary attached to the last sheet, on a separate piece of parchment.  

_Thoroughly researched and constructed well, as always. Your essay question, however, lacks precision, which is why this kind of goes off on a tangent towards the end and remains unresolved. It’s not an uncommon mistake to make when you base your essay around Breckenridge’s theory books. I would recommend using Metastopholes’s theorem on conjuring during brewing next time. As it stands, it’s a solid effort, Lupin, although I would say it’s below your usual standard. – H.S._

Despite not wanting to very much, Remus turned the sheet over and found the expected, but nonetheless awfully bright red “A”. _Shit_.

‘How did you fare?’ Allard was asking, but Remus wasn’t really listening, because his heart was pounding in his ears, anger consuming him until his vision was spinning and before he had realised, he had left the dormitory and was going through the corridors at a pace that was really not one he usually used. And then he was in the tower room, locking the door with a pretty formidable locking spell, and he was shooting a sharp _Reducto_ at the first piece of furniture he saw. He watched, transfixed, as it exploded all across the room, and barely even flinched when a splintered piece of wood grazed past his cheek, cutting it open, blood seeping down his cheek, dripping onto his collar and his white shirt.

He waved his wand and, wordlessly, the armoire pieced itself together again, so Remus shot the Reductor Curse at other pieces of furniture, watching with a vicious sort of satisfaction as they blew up, some disintegrating completely, before he put them back together again with just a wave of his wand. He was tired, so incredibly tired, and this stupid mistake would cost him so much. Anger flared up, lighting up his veins, and it seemed like the explosions weren’t making him feel much better, so he rucked aside the curtain and opened the window, letting it fall open against the stone wall with far more force than necessary, and he jumped out, landing neatly onto his haunches.

Then, because it seemed like a spectacularly good idea, he sped towards one of the turrets that looked out onto the Forbidden Forest, and smashed his left fist into it. He barely felt the sharp, precise pain in his knuckles, which, when he retracted it, started to bleed profusely. The wall was unharmed, but his fingers were red and were starting to feel slightly numb.

‘Woah,’ came a surprised voice from behind him.

Remus whirled around, drawing his wand in the process, and found Sirius Black standing in front of him.

‘Are you all right?’ Black asked.

Thoughtlessly, carelessly, Remus fired the first spell he could think of, and watched, slightly horrified, as dark, volatile red magic plumed out of his wand and headed, with dangerous speed, towards Black’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer than my usual chapters, and took a lot of rewriting to get just right. I did consider splitting it in two, but then it felt off-kilter, like it wasn’t complete without its other half.
> 
> I do very much hope you’ll like it.


	8. Chapter 7 - to contrive

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 7: _to contrive_

It was as if time had slowed down, allowing Remus to see the progression of the dark, ugly spell he had fired, making its way, ever so slowly, towards Black. He raised his wand, wanting to undo the spell, but there was no need, because a split-second later, the spell had already collided against a powerful Shield Charm that Black had cast without Remus noticing. The beam of red magic ricocheted off it, disappearing into the trees of Forbidden Forest surrounding the tower, and Remus opened this mouth to apologise. Before he could get any words out, however, he took a step to the side, just in time, as a jet of purple-blue magic shot past him, and travelled, presumably, on towards the lake.

Shocked, Remus looked at Black, who was looking at him with an unreadable, slightly dangerous expression. Feeling his irrational anger take hold of him again, Remus narrowed his eyes and fired another spell at him. Black countered it without too much effort, directing it towards one of the battlements, which collapsed in on itself, crumbling and falling out of sight with a loud, protesting noise.

Black then launched another spell at him – the incantation of which Remus missed – and Remus threw up a shield, which barely held up against the force of the magic; it eventually dissipated, fading into the tower around him. Angrily, perhaps a little thoughtlessly, Remus shot a sharp and controlled Reductor Curse at Black, who managed to leap out of the way, as the Curse, destructively, hit the wall behind him, which cracked and spewed sand and stone, filling the air around them with debris.

‘The _fuck_ , Lupin?’ Black demanded. Remus could barely make out his form, but he sounded furious. Not a moment later, broiling, dark orange-red flames hit the floor, making their way over to Remus at an alarmingly fast pace, consuming almost everything in sight. Remus’s lip curled upwards in a smile that wasn’t quite his own, and then he was drawing a complicated, rune-like pattern in the air, and aiming his wand towards the fire.

A split-second later, the flames started pulling away from the floor, up off the stones. They swirled up into the air, forming a maze of colours and debris, soaring up higher and higher. Then, with a loud bang, the fire exploded in a series of red sparks, which fell down from the air and landed all around the two of them, smouldering quietly. The power that spell had required was massive, and it had tugged the last of Remus’s energy out of him, so that he was stood, attempting not to sway on his feet, his wand trained on Black, who stood exactly where Remus had last seen him, the air clearing itself up around them obediently with a wave of Black’s wand.

‘Shit,’ Black said. He had lowered his wand, and he was looking at Remus with an expression that was a mixture of alarm and anger, the latter of which seemed to rapidly disappear, almost flooding out of him. Around them, the small tower that had been Remus’s haven for as long as he could remember showed obvious signs of distress as if it, too, had to recover from the aftermath of raging magic.  

‘I had locked that door for a reason,’ Remus told Black, coldly. Although his own anger had not evaporated completely – he could still feel it, rolling beneath his skin, hissing and close – his conscience made an expected appearance, and guilt streaked his thoughts. Remus’s cheek was still bleeding from the wood splinter that had grazed it earlier, and it was stinging in the cold wintry air; his knuckles were aching, and his breaths were coming out in sharp, burning bursts. Then, suddenly, he felt the support of his still-recovering ankle, which had behaved quite well over the last few weeks, give out beneath him, pitching him backwards, towards the wall.

Remus managed to catch himself with the help of his elbow, which knocked painfully against the stone. Letting out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, Remus looked up, and found Black standing in front of him, his grey eyes a curious mix of emotions. Suddenly, he felt the tip of Black’s wand against his cheek and he sucked in a breath and raised his wand, too, pointing it directly at Black’s chest. Rather than the combative magic he had expected, however, he instead felt the cooling sensation of a Healing Charm, and the cut on his cheek knitting itself together.

‘All right?’ Black asked. He kept his distance, but there was a note of concern in his voice.

Remus touched his fingers to his cheek, nodding vaguely. He pulled himself away from the wall and carefully tested his balance. His ankle gave a painful twang in protest, but it otherwise carried his weight, and he was able to stand up straight. It seemed that the duel between them had ended as quickly as it had begun, and Remus carefully lowered his wand, aiming it instead at the floor.  

‘Sorry I undid the locking spell,’ Black said, lowering his wand, too.

Remus raised his eyebrows at the apology, which he hadn’t quite expected. ‘You seem to be apologising to me quite a bit these days,’ he responded, coolly.

Black had the good sense to look guilty. ‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, pocketing his wand, ‘I didn’t actually think anyone was here.’

‘You’re right, doors in this castle do always lock themselves,’ Remus responded, dryly.

‘I heard about your grandfather,’ Black blurted. ‘I’m sorry.’

It wasn’t quite what Remus had expected him to say, so he fell quiet. After a minute or so, during which Black looked increasingly uncomfortable, Remus carefully stepped past him, raising his wand and aiming it at the battlement that had been destroyed. It flew back up, off of the ground below, and put itself together again, the stones grinding together loudly during the process. Then, Remus fixed the wall that his own Reductor Curse had hit, which proved to be rather tricky, as most of the stone had been turned to sand, and much of it had blown away in the March wind that filled the air around them. Eventually, Remus managed to reconstruct most of the wall, while Black’s pity echoed in his mind. He knew, too, that he should apologise for what he had done, instigating the duel as he had, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite find the words to say. The stone still sported a dark, black scorch mark where his Curse had hit, much to Remus’s chagrin, so he stabbed at it with his wand viciously one last time, and when it remained unchanged, he gave it up, stepping back.  

‘I didn’t even think to do that,’ Black mumbled, from somewhere over Remus’s shoulder, and Remus turned round, surprised, as he hadn’t heard Black come up behind him.

‘I can imagine,’ Remus responded shortly, pocketing his wand.

Rather than responding, as Remus had expected him to, or maybe even demanding an apology, Black merely seemed thoughtful, his brow furrowed as he looked at Remus, apparently without really seeing him. ‘I didn’t even know you could disintegrate the magic from fire-based spells,’ he said, his voice pondering.  

Remus stared. Whatever words he had expected to come out of Black’s mouth, those weren’t it, and it took a few seconds for him to recover. ‘You can’t,’ Remus replied, not sure of where this was going.  

‘But yet, you did,’ Black said absently, looking up at the sky, and then back at him, meeting his eyes. His brow was still furrowed, and he looked at Remus with a sort of incredulity. ‘Unless you would – no, you didn’t. You can’t do that. That’s – we’re not even taught that – no, you can’t possibly have.’

‘Er,’ Remus responded, confused. He couldn’t properly follow Black’s train of thought, or his emotions, which both appeared to be all over the place.

However, Black didn’t even seem to have heard him, his gaze flitting between Remus and the tower around them, as he seemed to be thinking, very hard, about Remus’s spell-work. Then, he seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion, and said, ‘You’re ridiculous.’ But the words didn’t really seem to fit the emotion that his voice carried, a note of clear admiration ringing soundly through his words. ‘You made up your own spell. It’s a combination of some kind of wind-magic based runic whatever that sucked the air out of the fire and something probably to do with explosive magic that made it disintegrate into sparks, like fireworks.’

‘Not really, I –’ Remus tailed off, stunned that Black had come to this conclusion, which was surprisingly insightful and clever, given his age.  

‘Was it not runic-based?’ Black asked, stepping closer together to him, his voice filled with curiosity. ‘Because you could, of course, use the force of the magic of the fire, but then still, you would have to have some sort of adaptive mechanism in the spell. You see, I’ve been trying to work something out for this project that Jamie are doing, because Pete’s absolutely rubbish at magical theory, so it’s been up to me, mostly, and I’m sort of in a similar spot, but now I know that it works in theory, so you can help. You can definitely help me.’

Remus, who had never been faced with such obvious awe for his own intellect, found himself retreating even deeper down into himself. Rather like pity, clear admiration of his own magical skill was an emotion that he didn’t take to very well. Their short-lived duel had been taxing, and he was tired, and the admiration that was pouring off of Black in almost radiant waves was sickeningly bright smelling. Besides, if he were completely honest, the spell he had cast to disperse Black’s rapidly advancing fire had been merely an adaptation of two spells that already existed, a combination he had made up on the spot, and he didn’t, by a long shot, deserve the credit that Black was now so generously bestowing on him.

‘I should go,’ Remus said.

‘N-no!’ Black implored, grabbing Remus’s shoulder, and the warmth of his grip, and the force of it, made something shoot down directly into Remus’s bloodstream, which settled, quite uncomfortably, in the pit of his stomach, and it made Remus’s breath hitch. ‘Don’t go, I would love to –’

‘Look, Black, I don’t have time for you,’ Remus said, the words coming out a lot harsher and more exasperated than he maybe meant them. Black visibly recoiled, as if someone had slapped him, and looked at Remus with wide, stunned grey eyes. Remus dislodged Black’s hand from his shoulder, and then he turned around, and swiftly made his way up the ledge, and into the castle, slamming the window shut behind him. His breaths were coming out in short and slightly erratic bursts, and he had no idea what had just happened, but he wasn’t about to have any part in it, so he just headed towards the door, and slammed it, too, shut behind him with an obvious sort of finality.  

* * *

The following Tuesday afternoon, Remus was working on an Astronomy essay that was due the next day and, as he was cross-referencing his star chart, he cast a thoughtless glance over the lunar chart that was taped to the back of his folder. Remus ordinarily didn’t need to rely on the lunar chart, because he could feel the advancement of the full moon in his very bones, but when his gaze landed on the chart, and the upcoming full moon, his heart stopped for a moment. On the twenty-fourth of March, which was coming up Friday, there would be a lunar eclipse.

Remus sat back in his chair, and blew out a shaky breath. That explained why his emotions had been going haywire the entire month. His visceral reaction to his bad Potions grade, the badly hidden shakiness of his hands when, during Defence Against the Dark Arts, the Professor started an ethical discussion about the new anti-werewolf legislation that had been announced, and, above all, the magical duel with Black, which had been fuelled by an inexplicable surge of anger. It all made sense.

Lunar eclipses, or blood moons, were the very worst kind of full moon for Remus. For some reason, the werewolf in him responded to lunar eclipses with a bloodthirst that could never be assuaged by anything he did. He remembered, vividly, when, during his first year, he got into a fight with one of the older Ravenclaw students two days before the lunar eclipse and it had been awful. The boy, who was a head and a half taller than Remus and an expert duellist, had shot a spell at him during the argument they were having, and instead of responding with his wand, Remus had walked straight up to him, stood slightly on his toes, and punched him directly in the face.

He had felt the sickening crunch of breaking bones the moment his fist hit the boy’s face, and he knew, at that second, nothing more than vicious satisfaction at having caused him pain. Remus stepped back, eerily calm, as blood spurted from the boy’s nose, streaking his face and his robes, and had waited, anger still pulsing in his ears, for Flitwick to arrive. Remus had served three full weeks of detention for breaking the boy’s nose – the only detentions he had ever served at the school – and, after his final detention with Flitwick, Dumbledore had shown up and asked Remus to follow him into his office. During the uncomfortable conversation that followed, Dumbledore had made it abundantly clear that Remus was, in no way, to rely on his condition to help him physically attack another student ever again, because he would be expelled from the school. Remus had given his word that nothing of the sort would happen again. He apologised fervently to the boy, in every way he could possibly imagine, and, eventually, albeit begrudgingly, the boy said he would accept his apology if Remus would just stop pestering him. So Remus stopped, and breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when the boy graduated two years later.

And ever since his first year, Remus had learned to anticipate the lunar eclipse, which happened four, maybe five times a year. Whenever there was an eclipse, Remus became increasingly withdrawn, even more so than he usually was, and he kept himself out of everyone’s way. He hadn’t spoken to Black since their duel and the abrupt ending of it, and if he were very, very honest with himself, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face Black soon. They had locked eyes, once, when Remus had stepped out of the Professor Babbling’s office and had seen Black, who was on his way up to the Astronomy Tower. When their eyes met, Black had thrown him such a filthy look that Remus had immediately looked down at the floor, and had waited until Black’s footsteps had faded away completely before heading to the Great Hall for dinner.

But now, sat in the library, the guilt that had been plaguing him since that day became sickeningly overwhelming, and before he had rightly processed what he was doing, his books and his notes were gathered, the ink of his still-drying essay was smeared across his fingers as he pushed it into his bag rather carelessly, and then he was out in the corridor, making his way over to the tower classroom he had last seen Black in. It was the first time, since the time he had asked Black for a cigarette in the library, that Remus was the one who was going out of his way to actually look for Black, rather than merely reacting to the presence of him, which had become, without Remus noticing, a surprisingly constant companion over the last few weeks.   

When Remus reached the classroom, he found the door standing ajar and the large central window unlocked, curtains billowing in the harsh, early-afternoon wind. Nervously, he walked over the window, and looked out, over the sill, to the tower. Black was stood there, his back against one of the battlements, facing the window while his hair blew messily in the wind. He was smoking, and Remus made to step forward, but then he noticed that Black wasn’t alone. There was someone else there, someone Remus couldn’t see, and Black laughed, freely, carelessly, making something in Remus’s stomach drop. His fingers dug into the slightly splintered wooden beam that made up the windowsill, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, leaning back from the window abruptly. The wood beneath his hands creaked protestingly as he pulled it back, way harder than he had intended to, and the loud sound of it made Black look up, and their eyes locked.

Remus nodded, just once, and stepped away from the window completely. For some reason, it became imperative to him that Black wouldn’t see him, or try and talk to him in any way, shape or form, because he was not going to be able to do act like a human. Quickly letting go off the windowsill, which groaned, splintered, and broke off in the middle, Remus stepped further backwards. He dropped the broken piece of sill he was now holding onto the floor, thoughtlessly, and turned around, leaving the classroom for reasons he couldn’t really explain to himself, later, when he thought back to it.

* * *

The lunar eclipse that Friday night was the most brutal transformation Remus had ever undergone in his life. When Madam Pomfrey had come to retrieve him from the Shack, early Saturday morning, she had found him barely conscious. He had sustained a wound that ran diagonally across the front of his body, starting at his right shoulder and running, across other, older scars, all the way down to his left hip. He had almost bled out completely, and the depth of the wound was such, that his stomach and part of his larger intestines had been cut open. For the first time, Madam Pomfrey had him immediately transferred to St Mungo’s for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where he spent the rest of March and the first two weeks of April, before being transferred back to Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing.

Remus had spent all of those weeks on strict bedrest, his mother, almost smotheringly, sitting at his bedside every day as long as visiting hours allowed her to. His father popped in once, grumpily complaining of the time it cost him from drafting legislation, so Remus told him, without too many words, that his presence wouldn’t be missed if he didn’t have time to hang around, a statement Lyall had clung to desperately, having been unable to directly look Remus in the eye since Remus had been bitten, anyway. Due to the alarming amount of potions he had to take for his recovery, Remus spent most of his time sleeping, and this resulted in the fact that, when he was finally released from hospital, he was four weeks behind on his work.

This led to a panicked, tiring frenzy for Remus, in which he tried to fit four weeks of homework into the three days he still had to spare before the next full moon. He didn’t sleep at all going from Friday to Saturday, choosing, instead, to finish up his Transfiguration essay and his translation for Professor Babbling. Flitwick had visited him while he was in St Mungo’s, just once, and had assured Remus that his recovery was more important than the article, but Remus had staunchly ignored him, and had contacted Professor Babbling as soon as he got out of the Hospital Wing to make a new appointment. He then spent most of Saturday morning and afternoon working on an essay for Potions and, for the first time in his life, took up Sangeetha Kingsley’s offer when he ran into her in the library, and he ended up copying his Astronomy homework from her, as she had taken the class last year, and had earned full marks for her star chart.

When he went to the Hospital Wing on Saturday night, Remus was incredibly tired, and also, incredibly disappointed with himself. He had managed to catch up on the first week of homework that he was behind on, but he had had no time to work on anything else, including making notes for his tutoring lessons or doing any preparation for his final exams, which would be starting in June. Thankfully, this full moon was nowhere as alarming as the previous one had been, and he was out of the Hospital Wing, and back in the swing of things, a week and half later.

It took him another three weeks of constant work, and barely four hours of sleep every night, to get back on schedule with everything that he had committed himself to. While pale at the best of the times, Remus had had barely noticed that his skin had turned a sheer, skeletal shade of grey, as he walked around the corridors of Hogwarts like he was experiencing them from afar, and not from where he presently stood.

Then, to make matters worse, his last, worn-down quill, which had served him well over the last four years, finally broke in the middle of his Defence Against the Dark Arts practice exam. Professor Lowry was gracious enough to offer him one of her own quills to use, but firmly informed him after the lesson that such an exception would ordinarily have cost him his marks. So, during the next Hogsmeade weekend, Remus bought a set of three new quills, gritting his teeth at the seven galleons it cost him, and spent the rest of the money he had left over from last summer on a second-hand book he found on defensive spells, pushing it into Professor Lowry’s hands at the end of his next lesson and completely missing her startled thank you.

That Saturday night, after his patrol, Remus walked into the tower classroom, closed the door behind him, and leaned back against the frame, looking up at the ceiling and trying to control his panicked breathing. Over the last few days, he had been feeling really unwell which was, given the full moon the next day, unsurprising. Only now, as he was operating on very little sleep, the feelings stuck to him more than they normally did, and they were different. There was a kind of sickening, anxious feeling that settled in his body whenever he had to do any kind of magic, and he had sometimes discovered that his classwork was suffering as a result. Still, there was little he could do, because when he lay in bed at night, all he could think of were all of the things he still needed to do.

‘Surprised to see you here,’ a low voice said, and Remus looked up, surprised, to find Black sitting on the window sill, leaning back against the glass. It was already dark outside, which was likely the reason he’d missed Black sitting there, the faded denim of his jeans barely visible in the dark classroom. As if reading his thoughts, Black shot a spell at an ancient chandelier that was hanging low from the ceiling, but instead of lighting up the whole room, his spell only worked on the candles that hadn’t melted down, resulting in a sort of hazy, cosy light.

Remus looked at him, then down at the floor, and then back up, trying to meet Black’s gaze. ‘I – I wanted to apologise.’

‘Whatever would you need to apologise to me for?’ Black asked, rhetorically, lazily twirling his wand between his fingers, and deliberately not looking at Remus.

‘I’m sorry,’ Remus said.

‘Well done,’ Black responded, smiling a smile at him that Remus recognised not for its cordiality, but for the obvious underlying sentiment of superiority; it was a smile his father often wore, when he thought Remus wasn’t looking too clearly at him. ‘That almost sounded sincere,’ Black added, placing unnecessary emphasis on the second word.

He then hopped off the window sill, elegantly so, and walked towards Remus. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘I –’ Remus said, eloquently, but didn’t finish, distracted when Black stopped right in front of him. In the shadowy light of the chandelier, Remus hadn’t noticed, but now that Black was stood so close, he could clearly see that there was a disturbing wound just above his temple, which looked purple, and black, and yellow, and menacing. Black grinned at him, a grin that didn’t meet his eyes at all, and Remus opened his mouth to say something, but what came out, instead, was, ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m brilliant, thank you for asking,’ Black responded, his tone scorchingly sarcastic. ‘You’re looking amazingly stellar yourself, Lupin, by the way. Your complexion is just incredibly fetching in that shade of death, it suits you, somehow, although I can’t really – what are you doing?’

Remus, who had pulled out his wand during Black’s little tirade, gave him a look. ‘I’m going to fix your wound.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Black said, stepping away from him. ‘You’ve done quite enough for me and I – no, Lupin, fuck off –’ he added, when Remus took a step closer to him. But Remus ignored him, and lit up his wand with a bright lighting spell so he could have a better look at Black’s face.  

‘Christ, are you trying to blind me?’ Black said, shielding his eyes dramatically. ‘Put that thing away, will you? And preferably before you take someone’s eye out, thanks.’

‘Shut _up_ , Sirius,’ Remus told him, firmly.

Perhaps because he sensed he was going to lose this discussion, or perhaps because of the fact that Remus had called him by his first name, Black shut his mouth, albeit resentfully, and sank down into the chair Remus guided him towards. By the light of his wand, Remus examined Black’s face. The wound by his temple was obviously caused by a spell, but it was interesting. Remus bit his lip in thought as he glanced at the way the blood was clotting, and then he reached out, gently touching his fingers to the wound, much to Black’s obvious consternation.

It was nothing he couldn’t fix, although he was surprised that Black had managed to be hit by any spell at all. If anything, their duel had proved that Black had amazingly quick reflexes, which were probably the result of his position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, in which he was a Beater. ‘It’s probably better if you let Madam Pomfrey have a look at this,’ Remus said, quietly, ‘but I think I can stop the bleeding.’

Black didn’t respond, but grimaced slightly when Remus touched his wand to the wound, murmuring a healing spell. Remus watched, satisfied, as the skin knit itself together, leaving only a nasty, blooming red bruise. ‘There,’ Remus said, stepping back.

Black touched his fingers to the wound, and looked up at Remus. ‘Thanks,’ he said, eventually, ‘it hurts way less now.’

Remus was amused. ‘I really am sorry,’ he said, pocketing his wand.

‘Okay,’ Black responded, getting up. He stepped past Remus, the fabric of the black leather jacket he was wearing brushing delicately against Remus’s thin oxford shirt, and then, with a few long strides, he was at the door. ‘Try and get some sleep, Lupin, you look like you might keel over at any minute,’ he said, looking over his shoulder.

‘Er, thanks?’ Remus responded.

Black nodded, opened the classroom door, and made to step through it. But then, seemingly changing his mind, he turned around again. ‘I hope you know you’re a bit loopy,’ Black told him, and then he stepped outside, and was gone.

‘Right,’ Remus said, wondering why that stung a little, and decidedly not trying to think of how it reminded him of the malicious nickname that had somehow been attached to him since his first year at Hogwarts. He sunk down upon the chair Black had just occupied, looking down at his knees.

‘I’m thinking,’ Black’s voice came, and Remus looked up in surprise, finding him standing in the door opening. ‘You should come play Quidditch with us some time.’

‘Oh,’ Remus responded, before he could stop himself. ‘Er, I don’t – I don’t play Quidditch?’ For some reason, it came out as a question, which seemed to amuse Black greatly, because he gave Remus a winning grin.

‘We’ll teach you. See you around, Lupin,’ he said, raising his hand in greeting, and then he left.

‘Yeah,’ Remus told the empty air where Black had just been, his own hand having come up, automatically, in response to Black’s. He wondered, absently, if this wasn’t going to end spectacularly badly for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this chapter was a tricky thing, and the version you’re reading today is, perhaps a bit surprisingly, its seventh iteration, which would explain why it took forever and a day to write. Earlier versions of the duel between these two saw shattered two-way mirrors and dramatic injuries, but they all seemed a bit out of place, so I was happy when this version sprung into existence.
> 
> Also, I am sorry there was such a long wait between these chapters; I've kind of been struggling, lately, and this was one of the things that I had to shelve, wistfully, resentfully, until I had the time to focus on it fully. I do hope you'll forgive me for the wait.
> 
> Enquiring minds want to know – what did you think would happen during the battle?


	9. Chapter 8 - to contain

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 8: _to contain_

The May full moon was, especially when compared to the others before it, relatively mild. Remus’s only injury came in the form of an infection on his right leg, where the wolf, apparently bored and resentful, had bit open the just-healed wound on Remus’s calf. This meant that Remus’s limp, which had all about gone, was apparent again, and this time, it was so noticeable, some of his fellow students sought fit to comment on it when he returned from the Hospital Wing.

One of these students was Greg Allard, who let out a low whistle when Remus entered the common room. ‘I’d hate to see the other bloke,’ he said, by way of greeting.

Remus shrugged. ‘Broke my ankle,’ he stated, noncommittally.

‘Oh, I’ve had that, that’s awful,’ said the girl sitting next to Allard, a distinct London twang permeating in her voice. She was really pretty, with dark skin and dark, black curls that reached just to her shoulders. Remus recognised her vaguely as a Hufflepuff, and he suspected, from the badge on her chest, that she was their Quidditch captain. ‘It’s so annoying that they can’t quite fix that up by magic.’

‘Yeah,’ Remus said, vaguely. ‘Well, I’ve got homework to do.’ He walked past the pair of them and went up the stairs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grimacing. He eventually made his way up to the boy’s dormitory, where he spent what felt like the rest of the last week of May working on his homework.

By the time June appeared, radiantly bright and devastatingly hot, Remus was so busy he had trouble getting a full night of sleep. He didn’t see Black again, which was possibly due to the fact that O.W.L.s. had started; and, frankly, Remus had forgotten all about Black’s promise of a Quidditch game, busy as he was. He finally caught up on all of his work, and even managed, by the grace of Circe, to even out his Potions grade with his two last essays, which Professor Slughorn had fondly deemed to be “brilliant”. Then, it was time to prepare for his end of term exams, which took place over the course of a week, and turned out to be much easier that Remus had expected them to be.

After finishing all of his exams, Remus found himself, finally, blissfully, with some free time on his hands. He chose to spend the final week of term, during which he had no classes, with Professor Babbling, spending days locked in her classroom, thumbing through old books and studying runic scrolls he had never seen before. Finally, on the morning of the day term officially ended, they managed to produce a solid translation, and Flitwick was ecstatic when they presented it to him.

‘Thank you so much for your help, Mr Lupin,’ he said, sounding delighted, clutching the parchment with the runic translation like a lifeline. ‘And you too, of course, Bathsheda,’ he added, to Professor Babbling, who awarded him with a rare smile. ‘I shall work on this over the summer, and should I need it, I’d be happy for any help you might want to give me in the upcoming school year.’

‘Of course, Filius,’ Professor Babbling said smoothly. ‘I will see you later. And I will see you in class next year, Mr Lupin.’ She turned and walked towards the door, but hesitated when she reached it, turning round to face the two of them once more. ‘I perhaps should not tell you this, but I was quite happy when I was reading through your exam, Lupin. You seem to have been the only one in your year to have grasped the theory well.’

‘Er, thanks, Professor Babbling,’ Remus said, trying, and failing, to suppress a smile.

‘Bye now!’ Professor Flitwick called after her. ‘And off you go, too, Mr Lupin. Wouldn’t want you to be late catching the train back home,’ he said, offering Remus a cheerful wave, which Remus returned, before he made his way out of the classroom, and into the corridor, closing the door firmly behind him.

The limp he had been given as a souvenir from the May full moon was still present, but it was getting less noticeable with each passing day, much to Remus’s relief. On his way towards the Ravenclaw common room, he stopped, suddenly, at a forked corridor near the library. He looked left, where the common room was, and then right, and then, stupidly, on instinct, he turned right, then right again, and found himself standing in the tower classroom, which was, if possible, even more dusty than he had left it. Carefully, Remus made his way over to the window, opening the latch and looking out at the tower below. Black wasn’t there.

Remus shrugged, vaguely. He hadn’t really known what he had expected, but it didn’t matter, and it was time, now, to go home. He returned to his dormitory to collect his trunk, made his way down to the station, and spent his train ride in the Prefects compartment, as was required. It was customary on their final trip for the year’s Head students to make speeches. The Head Boy, who was a pasty Slytherin with red hair, gave a droll speech about his future work as a trainee Keeper for a Quidditch team. The Head Girl, Sangeetha Kingsley, revealed that she was going to work at the Ministry of Magic as, surprisingly given her cheerful and open disposition, an Unspeakable.

‘An Unspeakable?’ Remus inquired when she had sat back down, and everyone had finished clapping and was now just talking amongst themselves. ‘That’s unexpected.’

‘For you, maybe,’ Sangeetha told him. ‘I’ve always wanted to be an Unspeakable. My uncle works at the Ministry, and he put me in touch with some people. I took the entrance exams the week after N.E.W.T.s and I just got word this morning that I passed all of them. So, depending on my N.E.W.T. results, I can start training officially either in September or in October.’

‘That’s exciting,’ Lily Evans supplied, from where she was sitting, across from them. ‘Congratulations, Sangheetha. I think you’ll be great! So, Remus, who do you think is going to be Head Boy next year?’

Her vivid green eyes were sparkling, and Remus blinked at her, surprised. ‘I would say Isa Shafiq,’ he responded, without hesitation. Upon hearing his name, Shafiq looked up from where he was sitting, but Remus pretended to ignore him. There was always a list to be found, somewhere, of students who stood a chance at being made Head Boy and Head Girl next year. The list would be short, containing two, three names for each gender, and for some reason, the new Head students always seemed to come from that list.

Remus knew that Shafiq and Archelaos Beirne were on the list, and he also knew that, surprisingly, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was on the list; a kind and skilled boy named Frank Longbottom. The moment the list had started to circulate, sometime after final exams, Remus had lost all hope for the position. The list was always supplied by an unknown source, whom many suspected was actually Professor Slughorn (who always vehemently denied such claims), and there was a fervent betting pool, run by two Gryffindors, that would be set up after the list had circulated. In the twenty years since its conception, the list had never been wrong before, and the new Head Students were always chosen from it.

‘Right,’ Lily said, softly. Remus felt her statement surmised his feelings on the subject perfectly.

* * *

Two days after the end of term, after he'd barely settled in back home, Remus landed a job working for George Finton, who owned a nearby farm. Every morning, Remus would wake up at four, cast a Stasis Charm on his right leg to prevent his limp from bothering him during the day, and drove up to the farm in his mother’s car. He worked alongside George, who had russet-coloured hair and a weary, weather-beaten look about him, milking the cows, getting eggs from the chickens, and driving the large combine harvester across the fields. He also ran errands, including personal ones, for Finton’s mother, Caroline, who was getting on in years. She was endlessly trying to feed Remus bits of fruit cake whenever she caught sight of him, and she often forgot where she had put things.

Just at the beginning of July, when Remus returned home after a long day at the farm, he found his mother and father around the kitchen table, which was a very unusual occurrence. It was unusual not only because the pair of them were hardly ever home at the same time, but also because Remus’s father preferred to have dinner in front of his mother’s television while watching the news. So Remus paused where he was stood in the back door, looking at them with his eyebrows raised.

‘Any reason we’re all gathered here today?’ he asked, failing to keep the tiredness out of his voice.

‘This arrived for you,’ his mother said, handing him an opened envelope. Remus ignored the fact that it was already opened – his father had a habit of opening any owl post without looking first to whom it was addressed, as if forgetting that Remus would sometimes get mail, too – and stuck his hand inside. Expecting it to be his school supply list, he saw that, instead, there was only a letter, which he folded open.

 _Dear Mr Lupin_ ,

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to serve as Head Boy for the upcoming school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Over the last six years at Hogwarts, you have shown dedication, determination and, most of all, kindness, which are all qualities we believe a Head Boy should possess._

_Should you choose to accept this position, Professor Dumbledore expects to see you and the Head Girl one week before the beginning of term so that you may be given instructions for the upcoming school year._

_We await your answer by owl no later than July 15th. Please find enclosed your badge, which must be worn on your robes at all times. Congratulations!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

Remus read, and then re-read the letter, and then looked up at his parents. ‘What?’ he managed, his voice breaking with a crack in the middle of the word.

In response, his father stood up and opened his palm, revealing a beautiful bronze and blue badge, which complemented the Ravenclaw colours perfectly. There was a small banner attached to the front of the badge, into which the letters “Head Boy” were engraved. Mesmerised, Remus stepped forward, and took the badge from his father, a feeling of unreality washing over him.

‘What?’ Remus said, again, turning the badge over in his hands, wondering why there was a feeling of abject panic settling in his stomach. ‘I don’t understand –’

‘Congratulations, darling,’ his mother said, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Unexpectedly, she jumped up, out of her chair, and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. ‘We’re so proud!’

Remus hugged her back, but it was almost out of reflex, and not out of genuine joy. Remus felt, then, his father watching them, and he lifted his gaze, looking at him.

‘Well done, son,’ his father said, simply, but there was a note of pride in his voice that Remus had never heard before. As far as Remus could remember, his father had never shown any happiness for Remus’s accomplishments, and this small, casual comment turned Remus’s panic into something that was just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Remus stepped out of his mother’s embrace. ‘You know I can’t accept this,’ he said, softly.

‘What?’ demanded his mother in a high-pitched voice, ‘of _course_ you can! You’ve always wanted to be Head Boy.’

‘I can’t, Mum,’ Remus said, feeling a headache press against his temples. ‘I can’t.’

Before she could respond, however, his father put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I think you should reconsider,’ he said, looking up at Remus with an unreadable expression. ‘It’s an amazing opportunity. And it also means that no one, especially not Dumbledore, is worried about your lycanthropy. Otherwise, they would’ve never have appointed you.’

Remus gazed at him, passively, feeling his headache thump-thump against his temples in a rhythm that varied in intensity. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, finally. ‘I’m going to go change for dinner.’

His father stood, facing him with an upward jut of his chin, and Remus, in reply, just nodded, once, before heading upstairs. Supper was accompanied by a slightly unnerving silence, which meant that Remus was grateful to escape to his room. After a shower, he went to sit down on his bed to thumb through a book about Advanced Charms, which he was hoping to take notes on this weekend. Instead of getting very far into the book, though, he fell asleep halfway through, the book sliding, as the night progressed, steadily out of the grasp of his fingers and landing, with a soft thump, on the carpet.

* * *

A week later, after another tiring day at the Finton farm, Remus drove back home, cheeks flushed and an ugly grimace around his mouth when he stepped out of the car. The Stasis Charm he had cast on his leg this morning had, likely, been a little too rushed, because during the birth of a calf, that day, a searing pain had shot up from his ankle up to his leg. Startled, Remus had almost lost his balance while trying to pull out the calf, but managed to recover at the last minute, with shaking, almost inhuman-like reflexes. His ankle throbbed and his limp was noticeable even to Caroline Finton, who put a second slice of fruit cake onto his plate during lunch and stubbornly insisted she needed no errands run down in the village.

When Remus entered through the back door of the house, he found his mother, inevitably, stood by the stove. She didn’t look up when he entered, but answered his greeting with a vague hmm-sound, as she finished carefully whisking milk into a smooth, white, béchamel sauce, which meant they were going to have lasagna for dinner. Remus hung up his coat on the pegs by the door and breathed in the scent of his mother’s cooking. Having finished the sauce, she turned round to look at him with a happy smile, which fell immediately when she took him in.  

‘Are you all right?’ she demanded, stepping forward and towards him.

‘I’m _fine_ , Mum,’ Remus said, his voice sounding flat and tired even to his own ears as he hobbled, carefully, towards the kitchen table, where he sank down, with a grateful sigh, into one of the kitchen chairs.

‘You’re as white as a sheet,’ his mother said, concern streaking through her voice as she came to stand in front of him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s just my ankle,’ Remus responded, softly, rolling up his jeans so that he could have a better look at it. When the fabric was pulled back, he found that the skin around the still-healing wound on his ankle was incredibly hot to the touch, the scar swelling underneath with what looked like – he sucked in a breath and attempted to stand up.

‘No, sit,’ his mother said, pushing him by his shoulders back down into the chair. ‘I’ll get your wand.’

She was out of the room before Remus could say anything, and back before he knew it, pushing his cypress wand into his hands, and sinking down onto her knees in front of him. He pointed at his wound and murmured a Healing Charm, but, unfortunately, it didn’t take, and the wound on his ankle stayed the same. It was only on his fourth try that the magic whooshing out of his wand lit up the skin around the wound, and with a tight, tingling feeling, he could feel the infection seeping into nothingness.

His mother looked up at him, one hand on his knee. ‘I thought Madam Pomfrey had said it was healed enough for you to work again.’

Carefully, Remus poked and prodded at his ankle, but found it simply cool to the touch. He knew, though, that he would likely need to return to the Hospital Wing as soon as term started, because werewolf-inflected wounds healed differently than normal wounds, and he might not have done enough to heal this one. Without meeting his mother’s pressing gaze, Remus admitted to her, softly, that Madam Pomfrey might not have used those exact words.

‘Remus,’ she said, and the sadness in her voice tugged at him, and made him look up and meet her eyes. ‘You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know. We’re your parents. We can take care of you. You’re dead on your feet as is and if you’re going to be Head Boy next year, you need to take it easy this summer.’

‘Mum,’ said Remus, softly, but patiently. ‘I’m not going to be Head Boy.’

‘Nonsense,’ said an unexpected voice from the doorway, Scottish and matter-of-fact, and Remus turned his head towards the doorway only to see in it the last person he had ever expected to find in their home: his grandmother. She wore her hair the same way as she had done the last time Remus had seen her, and a light, summer-y cloak of a deep green was slung over her shoulders. ‘Of course you’re going to be Head Boy,’ she added, stepping into the kitchen.

‘Mother,’ came the voice of his father from behind her, as he, too, appeared in the doorway. ‘We’ve talked about this. It’s Remus’s choice whether or not he wants to be Head Boy.’

Mairwen Lupin ignored her son, and looked at Remus, a stern set to her mouth. ‘It is really quite simple,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to be Head Boy?’

‘Yes, but –’ Remus said.

‘Do you think you’d be a good Head Boy?’ she interrupted.

‘Yes, but –’ Remus said again.

‘Do you have any reason to believe something will prohibit you from doing a good job as the Head Boy you want to be?’

‘Yes,’ Remus said, firmly, standing up and facing her. ‘I do think that.’

His father shot him a tired, but imploring look of warning, which Remus ignored. For her part, Mairwen was looking at Remus with thoughtful eyes, her lips slightly pursed. Then, seemingly changing her mind against saying something, she opened her bag, and pulled out an elaborately decorated, cream-white envelope, which she laid down upon the kitchen counter. ‘It is, of course, entirely up to you whether you accept the position or not,’ she said. ‘I only stopped by to tell you that I am very proud of you. And since you are only the second Lupin within the family to have been awarded this illustrious honour, I’ve taken it upon myself to organise a small dinner party Friday night in celebration.’

She gave them a brilliant smile. ‘Regardless of your decision, I hope to see you all there. And Remus,’ she said, turning towards him. ‘I would put some Dittany on that wound, if I were you.’ Then, with a sharp crack, she Disapparated out of the kitchen, leaving the three of them to stare at each other, confusion etched across their faces.

* * *

In the following days, Remus’s ankle seemed to be on the mend, and the infection didn’t return which, thankfully, meant he likely wouldn’t have to bother Madam Pomfrey before term had even started. On Friday, he asked a surprised-looking Mr Finton if he might leave early for the day, and was grateful to receive his permission. His grandmother’s dinner party would be starting at seven o’clock, as the invitation had dictated, and when Remus arrived home, he took a quick shower, and dressed in his only set of formal robes, which had once belonged to his father. Remus was a good head taller than his father, which meant, when he looked in the mirror, that the robes hit just above his ankle, and pulled, very tightly, across his shoulders.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek as he surveyed his reflection. He looked tired, but his skin had lost most of its paleness due to the early July sun and the many days he had spent outdoors, on the farm. Still, his dress robes looked ridiculous, and while he had never been particularly good at needlework charms, he pulled out his wand, and managed to lengthen the black fabric until his robes hit just above his shoes with some poking and prodding. Although it would do for tonight, he would need to buy himself a new pair of dress robes, especially if he were to agree to the Head Boy position.

Shaking that thought out of his head, he headed downstairs, and found his parents already waiting for him. His father was dressed in a pair of black robes, not entirely dissimilar to the pair Remus was wearing now in cut and style, and his mother was wearing the only set of dress robes she had ever owned: her wedding set. They were white and elegant, fitting her perfectly, but she looked incredibly uncomfortable in them. Remus gave her a cheerful smile, which she returned, with a hint of wariness, and then, at a quarter to seven, his father Apparated all of them neatly on the steps of his grandmother’s home.

‘You’re almost late,’ his grandmother said, when she answered the door, but her tone was pleasant. She was wearing an elaborate, form-fitting set of robes, made up of a delicate kind of black velvet, and her hair was done up in a neat bun. ‘But never mind that, welcome,’ she said, kissing each of them on the cheek once, and stepping aside to let them in. ‘Can I offer you anything to drink? No? All right, follow me,’ she said, leading them into a room that offered a magnificent view of the garden, with large bay windows that were open, letting in the early evening breeze.

‘Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable while I check with the cook to make sure everything’s on track? The guests will be arriving in ten minutes,’ Mairwen said, and then bowed her head, and walked out of the room.

‘I hope she doesn’t expect me to greet them,’ Remus’s father under his breath, as he sank down into a dark brown Chesterfield sofa. Remus followed his example, sitting down across him in a matching chair.

‘Don’t be daft, Lyall,’ his mother said, shortly. Although she attempted to hide it, her hands were shaking, and she purposefully didn’t meet Remus’s gaze. ‘I’m going to freshen up,’ she added, her face turning pale, and then she was out of the room like a shot, and Remus saw her disappearing up the staircase in the hallway.

‘Right,’ Lyall said, drumming his fingers on his knees. He got up again. ‘I’m going to check to see if Mother needs any help.’

‘But –’ Remus tried, but his father carefully ignored him, hastily speeding off in the same direction that his grandmother had disappeared in. Left alone, Remus shook his head, and then stepped out through the open French doors, and onto a terrace that overlooked part of the garden and, to the right side, part of the ocean. Remus breathed in deeply and smelled the salty air of the sea, resting his arms upon the stone balcony. He found himself thinking, again, of the position he had been offered. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy clang of metal, which vibrated through the house.

Remus looked over his shoulder, frowning. The metal clang was sounded again, and Remus realised it was the bell; but no one was answering the door. With a deep sigh, he headed out of the conservatory, and into the hallway, where he opened the door to a friendly looking wizarding couple. The witch had very light, almost ashy grey hair and wore bright, Gryffindor-red robes; she was beaming at him. The wizard, similarly, had grey hair, and he was also smiling, his eyes crinkling in the corners.  

‘You must be Remus,’ the woman said and, while polite, a hint of mischief permeated through her tone. ‘Congratulations on making Head Boy.’

‘Thank you. Please,’ Remus said, careful to shape his voice into neutrality, as he stepped aside to let them in.

‘Always grand, the Lupin house,’ the woman remarked, stepping into the light of the foyer and shrugging off the evening shawl she had been wearing over her robes, leaving her shoulders bare. ‘I take it your grandmother is in the kitchen?’

Remus nodded, a bit startled, and then, remembering his manners, said, ‘Would you like me to take your shawl?’

‘Oh, darling, no, it’s fine. I shall keep it with me,’ the woman said, folding the shawl and putting it into one of the inner pockets of her robes.  She was still smiling. ‘My name is Euphemia Potter and this is my husband Fleamont. We’re very pleased to finally meet you.’

‘How do you do,’ Remus said, bowing politely.

‘Nice to meet you, Remus,’ the man said, speaking in a cordial, lilting Dorset accent, which Remus had not really expected. He shook Fleamont Potter’s hand, as was customary in pureblood tradition, and was just about to show the pair into the conservatory when there was another heavy clang of the bell.

‘Oh, I’ll be,’ said Euphemia, pursing her lips in disapproval, and before Remus could do anything, she had opened the door herself. ‘Didn’t I tell you we were going to go inside? You’ve got those ears for a reason, James,’ she said sternly, and then Remus wasn’t at all surprised to see, when the door was pushed open further, James Potter step into the house. His hair looked tidier than Remus had ever seen it, and he was wearing a set of ochre-coloured dress robes, which matched his mother’s set perfectly.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ Potter said, sounding like he was anything but as he closed the door behind him. ‘All right, Lupin?’ he asked, meeting Remus’s eyes. ‘Congratulations and all that.’

‘Thank you,’ Remus said, growing increasingly more uncomfortable by the minute. ‘Why don’t you follow me into the conservatory? It’s just through here,’ he added, gesturing towards the room at the end of the hall.  

‘Yes, yes, do lead the way, good man,’ Potter said, walking up so that he fell perfectly into step with Remus. He had grown taller than he had been the last time Remus had seen him, and he was grinning broadly, giving off the impression that everything was going according to plan. Remus nodded vaguely, and headed towards the sun room, the three Potters in tow.

‘It would be lovely if you did try to remember the manners I taught you,’ Euphemia Potter said from behind him, a little wistfully.

James was spared a response, however, because when they stepped into the conservatory, his grandmother was already there, sitting upon the sofa Remus’s father had previously occupied. ‘Ah, the Potters,’ she said, standing up and accepting their greetings with a smile. ‘How have you been?’

‘Just fine, thank you,’ said Euphemia, sitting down on a nearby sofa in a relaxed and comfortable manner, which made it look like she had been here many times before. Remus suspected she had been; he remembered her vaguely from the funeral, although the pair of them hadn’t spoken. ‘Thank you for the invitation. And congratulations, of course.’

‘Thank you,’ his grandmother said graciously. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

‘A Gillywater for me, please,’ Euphemia replied, motioning for James to join her, which he did, although he was a little fidgety. He kept shooting glances over his shoulder towards the foyer. Remus followed his gaze once or twice, but saw nothing.

‘I’ll have some Firewhiskey if you have it,’ Fleamont supplied, sinking down into a sofa opposite them, where he came to sit next to Remus’s father, who Remus noticed only now. His father’s face was a mask of indifference, and he didn’t meet Remus’s eyes when he looked over.

A few minutes passed as drinks were handed out and pleasantries were exchanged, until, suddenly, his grandmother narrowed her eyes and then turned towards Remus. ‘Where has your mother gone?’ his grandmother asked, with a frown. ‘She went upstairs ages ago.’

‘I don’t know,’ Remus answered, slightly bewildered, looking at his father, who pulled a face and shrugged. The grand, heavy bell clanged again.

‘Well, why don’t you go look for her?’ his grandmother suggested, sounding a bit impatient. ‘I’ll get the door in the meantime.’

‘Right,’ Remus mumbled, and followed his grandmother out into the hallway, walking up the stairs while his grandmother opened the door and greeted a slew of guests. The stairway led up into a beautiful landing, which stretched far into the northern corner of the house, and forked into different directions at the end of it. The walls had handsome, dark-wood panelling, and rows and rows of paintings from long-forgotten ancestors lined the walls. The floor was made up of a dark, plush carpet, into which his shoes sank gratefully, and Remus looked a bit forlornly at the rows and rows of doors, which stretched before him. It was going to take him absolutely ages to locate his mother, especially because he suspected she actually didn’t really want to be found.  

Heaving a big sigh, Remus decided to start with a door to the right of him. When he pushed down the handle, he found the room empty and dark; a process which was repeated with the following three doors he tried. He saw, then, hopefully, that the fourth door was stood slightly ajar, and he pushed down the handle, stepping inside.

‘Mum?’ he asked, squinting in the darkness. ‘Are you in here?’

There was a snort of familiar laughter, and then the room was lit up by a powerful Lumos spell, which seeped light into every corner. ‘Not even close, though I appreciate the effort, Lupin,’ Sirius Black said, grinning at Remus from where he was sat on the window sill, cigarette in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really, really hoping you like this chapter. And thank you for all your very kind words and thoughtful reviews - they do mean the world.


	10. Chapter 9 - to confess

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 9: _to confess_

There was a whispery-thin moment, a breath of a second, which Remus needed to take it all in: the supple leather of the black jacket that Black was wearing, which caught the last, lingering rays of the sun; the thin plume of smoke that was drifting up from the cigarette in his left hand; the spectacular bruise that was blossoming on Black’s cheek, shaped like a hand. Black was still grinning at him when Remus’s eyes met his, but all Remus could think to say was,

‘I didn’t know you’d be here.’

Black shrugged vaguely, and then gestured his head at the seat on the window sill beside him. Remus bit the inside of his cheek, glanced, a little hesitantly, over his left shoulder, and then climbed up to sit next to him, swinging his legs out of the window, his hip pressing, not entirely uncomfortably, against Black’s. ‘I wasn’t technically invited,’ Black mumbled around the last of his cigarette which, when it died out, he simply threw down into the garden.

At Remus’s raised eyebrow, he continued, a bit reluctantly, ‘I – was at James’ and he convinced me it would be a lot better to come here than to sit sulking in the kitchen by the house-elves, but I’m not sure he’s entirely right.’

‘Well, when there’s house-elves,’ Remus said, looking out at the garden, trying to see if he could locate the cigarette. He would probably need to get rid of it later.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Black was grinning at him, but when Remus turned his head, Black was busy patting down his pockets in search of a new cigarette, so he looked out at the garden again. ‘Told him that, didn’t I? Not that he listened,’ Black said. ‘We only ever had one house-elf in my house.’

‘You must’ve suffered dearly,’ Remus said dryly, but Black didn’t respond, lighting his second cigarette with a casual flick of his wand. The glow of the spell that had lit up the room behind them was beginning to grow dim, and Remus turned so that he was sat with his back resting against the stone encasing of the window. ‘Any particular reason you were at Potter’s house?’ he asked.

Black blew out a puff of smoke, which clouded into the air in the shape of a ring, and then looked down at his knees, failing to meet Remus’s eyes. ‘Any reason you thought I was your mother?’ Black said, avoiding the question.

‘Any reason someone would hit you in the face?’ Remus countered.

Black made a sound in the back of his throat that wasn’t quite a snort, but wasn’t quite a laugh either, and he ended up, inexplicably, choking on it, launching into a coughing fit. Startled, Remus leaned forward and clapped him on the back a couple of times until the coughing stopped.

‘You all right?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Yeah,’ Black said, holding his fist up to his mouth and coughing once more, clearing his lungs. He was quiet for a little while and then he half-looked at Remus, half-looked past him. ‘It’s just typical, that’s all. You and James don’t let me get away with much.’

Remus didn’t know quite how to respond to that, so he didn’t, and instead, said, simply, ‘My mother is in hiding.’

Black turned his face to meet Remus’s eyes, frowning. ‘Why?’

‘She doesn’t ... like dinner parties very much,’ Remus settled on, eventually, only half-lying. ‘She hates dress robes, she says they make her look funny, and she doesn’t like being forced to be socially engaging with people she doesn’t even know or like very much. So she’s hiding.’

‘Really?’ Black said, sounding incredibly amused. ‘I mean, not that I don’t understand the sentiment, but I wouldn’t want to get on your grandmother’s bad side. Mairwen can be quite a handful when she wants to be.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Remus responded, without thinking, ‘I’ve only ever seen her three times.’

Black stared at him. ‘You’re _joking_.’

Remus looked at him, calculating the risk in his head, and then, heart hammering in his throat, he said, ‘My mum’s a Muggle.’

‘I know,’ Black answered, blithely. ‘It’s the reason my lovely Mother – oh, right,’ he added, his thoughts arriving at a conclusion that Remus couldn’t quite follow. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Sorry my mother is a Muggle?’ Remus repeated, a bit incredulously. ‘Cheers.’ He folded his legs over the window sill and put his feet back on the carpet, intent on leaving Black to sulk by himself and look for his mother. He could hear swearing behind him, and then Black’s fingers were caught in his sleeve, and Remus looked up at him.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Black said, running his free hand through his hair. ‘I just realised that’s why you’d never really met Mairwen before.’

‘Right,’ Remus said, vaguely. ‘Look, I need to find my mum, so,’ he tailed off, and pulled his sleeve out of Black’s slackening grasp, jumped off the window sill and walked towards the door. He stepped through it, back into the well-lit hallway, and it was only then he realised that Black was right behind him.

‘I’ll help,’ he offered.

‘Suit yourself,’ Remus said.

* * *

‘I don’t think your mother wants to be found, Lupin,’ Black said, matter-of-factly, when he closed yet another door behind him that had led into a dark and empty room.

Remus didn’t respond. It was about twenty-five minutes into their search, and the sounds of easy dinner conversation had started to drift up the stairs a while ago. Remus’s stomach was growling and the fact that he had been up since four o’clock this morning was also beginning to show in the languidness that was settling into his limbs, and the slightly more pronounced limp in his leg. ‘You can just go downstairs,’ he told Black, shortly. ‘I never said I needed your help.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Black said, not even listening to him as he closed the door of yet another room behind him. ‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of a shit when something doesn’t go your way?’

Remus snorted. ‘I think you’re talking about yourself, there,’ he said, looking into a room himself, and also finding it empty.

‘I resent that. I am excellent company and I –’ Black said, and then fell silent. They had reached the end of the hallway and were now both standing at the foot of a staircase that led into a small tower room. Remus met Black’s questioning look with a shrug and then, slowly, he climbed up the stairs, Black behind him, and then pushed down the handle of the door, revealing a room that was finally one that was occupied.

His mother was instantly visible, sat on the bed with her back towards the door, her robes spread out like a shimmering, white pool around her, catching the light of the moon through the window. The room was pitch-black, but the window she was looking out of offered a breathtaking view of the ocean.

‘Mum,’ Remus said, simply, walking towards her, and putting a hand on her shoulder. She raised her head towards his voice, and smiled softly up at him. ‘Mum,’ Remus said, again, sitting down on the bed next to her. ‘Dinner’s already started. Grandmother was asking where you were.’

‘Oh,’ Hope Lupin said, blinking. ‘Sorry, I got –’ she tailed off.

‘– lost in thought?’ Black offered kindly, from where he was leaning against the doorway. She whipped her head around, quite fast, and squinted against the pale light Black’s wand was emanating. ‘Right,’ she said to Remus. ‘We’ve got to get downstairs. We’re celebrating you, after all.’

‘Do you want me to ask Dad to take you home?’ Remus asked her, grabbing hold of her shoulder before she could get up.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Hope said firmly, shrugging out of his grip, and smoothing down her robes. ‘I’m absolutely fine. I just got lost up here. It is really, very unnecessarily large.’

‘It is at that,’ Black said, and Remus shot him a look. Black pulled a face back at him, but otherwise fell quiet, and stepped aside to allow Remus’s mother to step through to the staircase safely. She followed Black down the staircase as Remus closed the door, and then the three of them were in the corridor that would lead them back towards the hall.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ Hope said suspiciously, looking at Black, who had now doused the light of his wand, and had pushed his hands in his pockets. 

‘We met on the platform last year, Mrs Lupin,’ Black said, throwing her a charming smile.

‘Right,’ Hope said, frowning. ‘And you’re here today for the dinner?’

‘Yes,’ Black responded, and then quickly, ‘I mean, no. I’m a member of the search party.’

Hope looked at Black, and then at Remus, her frown deepening. Remus, for his part, avoided her gaze entirely, and wondered vaguely how much of an earful he was going to get from her when they got home. Thankfully, at that moment, they reached the top of the staircase that led into the hall below. The door to the dining room was stood open and at that precise moment, Remus’s father stepped out, and made his way to the staircase.

He looked up and found the three of them standing there. ‘There you are,’ he said, accusingly, and Remus’s mother stepped forward. ‘You best get downstairs, Mother’s in a strop. She wants you to give a speech, Remus.’

Black snorted. Remus elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

‘Say goodbye to your friend, Remus,’ Hope said, with a certain kind of airiness to her tone that Remus had never heard before. She gave Remus a look, and then headed down the stairs, where she came to stand next to his father. The both of them looked up the stairs with vaguely threatening looks on their faces.

‘I’ll see you around,’ Remus told Black shortly.

‘Goodbye, my dearest friend,’ Black said dramatically, slapping a hand over his chest and gazing at Remus with a profound sadness.  

‘Shut up,’ Remus told him, but he was smiling, and then he headed down the stairs, and followed his parents. Just before he stepped into the dining room, he looked back to the top of the stairs, and saw Black was waving him at him with a handkerchief, hand still clutched to his chest. Remus gave him a rude gesture, and then stepped through into the room, where, for some reason, his arrival was met with thunderous applause.

After the dinner at his grandmother’s house, and a journey home that was fraught with stern parental reprimands about his presumed closeness to Sirius Black, Remus turned to his parents when they stood in the living room, and interrupted the flow of their conversation with an announcement of his own: he had decided to accept the position of Head Boy.

For a moment, both of his parents looked too stunned to speak. Then, his mother burst out crying, and hugged him tightly, telling him tearfully that they would be celebrating tomorrow. Remus made a noncommittal hum in reply, and then said he was going to bed, because he was very, very tired. In a very uncharacteristic move, his father stepped into his bedroom just as Remus was changing into his pyjamas, and sat down on the edge of Remus’s desk.

‘What would you like as a gift?’ he asked.

‘I’m sorry?’ Remus asked him, barely listening, as he buttoned up his pyjama pants.

‘Your mother and I would like to give you a gift to celebrate.’

‘I don’t need anything, Dad,’ Remus said, tired, and impatient.  

His father stood up, and looked at him. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Good night, Remus.’

‘Night,’ Remus said, barely listening as he clambered into bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

The rest of summer faded out into a haze of bright evenings and before Remus knew it, he was stood, with the Head Boy badge pinned upon his chest, in front of the Prefects compartment of the Hogwarts Express. The Head Girl was Dahlia Parkinson, a very pretty Slytherin girl with blonde hair and very bright blue eyes, and she was already sat in the compartment when Remus slid the door open.

‘Hello again,’ she said, pleasantly.

‘Hello,’ Remus returned, with a careful smile.

He had first met Dahlia Parkinson in Professor Dumbledore’s office during the meeting Remus had been asked to attend over the summer. Dahlia had been wearing a set of shimmering, azure blue robes, her blonde hair tied back into an elegant French plait, and she had stood up, smiling warmly, when Remus had stepped into the room. Unlike his own, Dahlia’s name had been on the list of possible Head students, although she had never been a Prefect nor Quidditch captain, unlike all of the other candidates on the list. But then, Remus’s name hadn’t been on the list at all, so perhaps it wasn’t saying that much.

During the two-hour-long conversation they had with Dumbledore, Dahlia proved herself to be extremely capable and organised. She took notes during the meeting in the smallest, neatest handwriting Remus had ever seen, and asked a series of pointed questions about the schedule for the upcoming year. Together, they would be responsible for setting up the Prefect rosters for the whole year, organise a graduation ball for the seventh-year-students, ensuring the general safety and well-being of the Hogwarts population, and try to keep up with their own schoolwork amidst it all.

Dumbledore had also said, his eyes twinkling sagely over his glasses, that Remus’s grandfather was very poorly, and that Remus would need to leave the castle, once a month, to visit him. Dahlia had nodded, a serious look crossing her face.

‘I look forward to working with you, Remus Lupin,’ Dahlia had said at the end of the meeting, shaking his proffered hand. ‘I do hope your grandfather feels better.’

And now, she was sat in the compartment, her black robes opened to reveal the ice-blue, silk blouse and a black wool skirt she was wearing underneath. She put the French book that she had been reading down on her lap, and folded her hands over the title, so that Remus could only catch snippets of words. ‘Ready for the new year?’ she asked.

‘I think so,’ Remus responded. ‘You?’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said, with a smile, tucking her book into her expensive-looking book bag, and pulling out a sheet of parchment. ‘I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to think about the Prefect roster for the first three months yet, but I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a schedule myself.’

‘Oh,’ Remus said, opening his own book bag and pulling out a piece of parchment. ‘I had actually drawn up a schedule, too.’

Dahlia laughed. ‘Well, then, we should probably compare them. Sit by me.’

She smelled lightly of something floral, pansies maybe, and her fine blonde hair tickled his shoulder when he sat down next to her. Much to his surprise, the schedules mostly overlapped, and they quickly agreed about the few inevitable changes that needed to be made. Dahlia also proposed to meet in the library at the end of November to draw up the Prefect roster for the rest of the year, because they would be too busy over Christmas break with the first preparations of the graduation ball, which Remus thought was a clever idea.

By the time they were finalizing the last two names on the roster, the rest of the carriage had filled up with most of the Prefects. When he met her eye, Lily Evans gestured down at his badge, and gave him an amazing smile. Remus shot her a grin, and then turned back to Dahlia.

‘Lovely,’ Dahlia said, crossing out the last name with some flair and then tucking the schedule, alongside her book, into her bag. She smiled at the last of the Prefects that stepped into the carriage, and, turning to Remus, asked, ‘Did you want to start?’

‘Ladies first,’ Remus responded simply.  

Dahlia stood and clapped her hands to call the compartment to attention. ‘Hello everyone, welcome to the Prefects compartment and to a new year at Hogwarts. My name is Dahlia Parkinson and I will be your Head Girl this year. I’m a Slytherin and one of my favourite things to do is to read books by French philosophers. I look forward to working with all of you this year and I do hope you’ll seek me out should you ever need something. I’ll allow our Head Boy here to go over all of the formal announcements.’

She looked over at Remus, expectantly, and he stood up. ‘Hello, I’m Remus Lupin. I’m a member of the Ravenclaw house and I’m very happy to have been appointed as your Head Boy this year.’ He didn’t miss the sour look that Isa Shafiq shot him, from where he was sitting near the fifth year Slytherin Prefect, but he did his best to ignore it. ‘Dahlia and I have just finished drawing up the Prefect roster for the next three months, which will be posted to the board in the meeting room –’ he turned to Dahlia, who added, ‘tomorrow,’ and then gestured for him to continue.

‘We will be holding Prefect meetings biweekly, but we may call an emergency meeting if something important comes up. At the end of the year, like always, Hogwarts will be hosting a ball for its graduating seventh years, and you will all be asked to help organise it. As Prefects, you are allowed to attend and you may invite a fellow student to accompany you, if you wish. Dahlia and I will be attending together, as per tradition. I think that’s it for now. Congratulations on becoming Prefects. Thank you and have a good year.’

* * *

It was five weeks into term, just come October, and Remus was stood with his head titled up towards the shower, eyes closed. The water was streaming over his face, down towards his chest, and he opened his mouth to catch some. The water was warm and tasted like iron, so he spat it out again, and turned off the tap. He stepped out of the shower and caught his reflection staring back at him from the mirror hanging above the sink. He looked pale, and the circles under his eyes were grey and more than evident, even though his face was flushed pink from the warm water.

He looked away and dressed without paying too much attention to what he was wearing, and then headed out of his dormitory and made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Despite all of his careful planning and preparation, there was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the frantic pace of his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. At McGonagall’s instance, he was still tutoring several of her OWL students – he had six students, now – and he was also helping Professor Flitwick with his research by meeting, once a week, with him and Professor Babbling.

This was all besides his homework, his classes, patrols, Prefect meetings, double-checking and then filing Prefect reports in the Prefects Room, managing the passwords for two of the Hogwarts houses, and, finally, hosting the weekly ‘Hogwarts Open House’ sessions, during which he and Dahlia take turns listening to the questions, complaints, and worries of any of the Hogwarts students that need their help.

Despite the fact that he couldn’t really remember much of the way his bed looked like, and barely had any time to breathe or function, he was immensely happy with his decision to become Head Boy. There was a certain pride in being chosen, out of more than fifty of his peers, to represent the school. Dahlia was also pleasant to work with and she always looked immaculate, and not even as remotely tired as Remus felt. But then, Remus supposed, she wasn’t a werewolf, which probably helped.  

After breakfast, and a boring Arithmancy lesson, he arrived in the North Tower only to discover that his second class of the day, Muggle Studies, was cancelled. He blew out a breath and watched the rest of his classmates leave, uttering murmurs of consternation as they went, and carefully weighed his options. There was a tightness in his shoulders, and a tenseness, which was maybe only slightly related to the full moon which was coming up. Decision made, he headed down towards his tower classroom, and found it, thankfully, abandoned.

With a flick of his wand, the window opened and he climbed out onto the tower below. He made his way towards the battlements, putting his head in his shoulders and simply breathing, for a while. For some reason, his fingers were itching, and he could almost imagine Sirius Black’s voice next to him, offering him a cigarette with a note of concern in his voice.

Remus smiled to himself, and then looked up, out towards the unruly trees that made up the Forbidden Forest.

‘Are you ignoring me again?’ an amused voice said beside him, and Remus whipped his head around, and found, to his embarrassment, that Black was actually stood there, holding out a cigarette.

Remus blinked at him. ‘Oh, er,’ he said, vaguely, and accepted the cigarette he was holding out with trembling fingers. ‘Sorry. And thanks,’ he added, lighting it with a lazy flick of his wand.

‘So, you’re looking sprightly as ever,’ Black said, by way of greeting, lighting his own cigarette, and leaned his hands over the battlements. ‘Enjoying your new job?’

‘I think so,’ Remus mumbled.  

‘Sounds like you’ve got yourself convinced, at least,’ Black told him.

Remus threw him a look, and then looked back out at the Forbidden Forest. ‘It’s just busy,’ he said, softly. ‘I can’t remember the last time I slept for more than three hours.’

‘Oh, that’s healthy,’ Black said, with a frown. ‘Why don’t you take a break?’

Remus looked at him, bewildered, although Black seemed unimpressed, merely raising an eyebrow in response. ‘I don’t have time for a break,’ Remus told him, a bit impatiently. ‘I’ve got two essays and a translation for Professor Flitwick due tomorrow, and that’s not even counting my homework for today’s classes or the Head Boy stuff I need to take care of.’

Black extinguished his cigarette on the stone wall, and then flicked it down to the ground below. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

‘You really need to stop doing that,’ Remus said, a bit sadly, as the cigarette landed down into the edge of the forest below. He hadn’t even heard what Black had said.

‘Lupin,’ Black said patiently, and Remus blinked up at him. He was wearing an incredibly charming grin, which Remus imagined got him in trouble a lot. ‘Come with me.’

‘What?’ Remus asked.

‘Live a little,’ Black responded, and then turned and climbed back, through the open window, and disappearing out of sight. Remus bit his lip, hesitating. There were a million reasons not to follow Black. He still had two classes. He had back-to-back meetings with two of the students he was tutoring. He still had to read through and approve four Prefect reports. He still had homework. He could still hear his mother’s tearful pleas, warning him against making any friends.

‘Coming?’ Black yelled, sticking his head out of the window.

‘Yeah!’ Remus shouted back, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and heading towards the low wall that led back into the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve, everyone - I do very much hope you'll like this chapter! Credit for the open house idea goes to the lovely saras_girl.


	11. Chapter 10 - to abdicate

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 10:  _to abdicate_

When Remus had climbed back through the window, he found Black already waiting for him. There was something impatient in Black’s stance, the grin on his face ear-splittingly wide, and he was holding out his hand for Remus to take. Remus blinked, but took it, hopping off the sill with Black’s help in a movement that showed more grace than he had ever had. Black’s hand was warm and slightly clammy, and Remus let go of it, smoothing down his robes and adjusting the strap of his book bag.

‘So,’ he said, would-be-casually, ‘what are we doing?’

‘You’ll see,’ Black responded, with a twinkle in his dark grey eyes, and then Remus had to hurry to keep up as Black all but raced through the deserted corridors. Snatches of lectures and applied spell-work drifted up from the open classrooms they passed, and Remus felt suddenly quite self-conscious of the badge on his chest, and wondered what people would think if they were to see them like this. Even though Remus knew the chances of them having an unexpected free period at the same time were about nil, Black appeared to not care about the fact that he was skipping class at all, and he was strutting through the corridors with a languid ease.

When Remus pulled himself out of his thoughts, he realised that something had gone wrong, because he was stood alone in an empty corridor on the fourth floor, and Black was nowhere to be seen. Surprised, Remus looked around to see if he might’ve missed something. A second later, it appeared that he had, because Black appeared from behind a nearby suit of armour, an impatient look on his face. ‘Keep up,’ he said, sharply, and disappeared from sight.

Remus blinked, confused, and then made his way to the suit of armour, which looked identical to the one stood directly across from it. Still, he carefully pushed himself into the alcove behind it, touching the wall with his hand, and watching, mesmerised, as his fingers easily fell through. It turned out that what he had always believed to be a solid stone wall was, in fact, not one at all, but a secret passageway. He stepped through the fob wall and found himself in a dimly lit, chilly corridor.

‘I never knew this was here,’ he whispered to Black, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

‘You wouldn’t,’ Black returned, not unkindly, and then pulled himself away from the wall and started walking, Remus falling in step behind him.

The corridor was small, but thankfully, it didn’t take very long for them to reach what Remus presumed to be the end of it. A very large boulder was stood, with a halo of sunlight around it, blocking the exit. With a murmured spell from Black, it rolled aside noiselessly to reveal a large crack in the castle wall, and part of the grounds behind the greenhouses. Remus blinked a few times to adjust to the bright sunshine, and then carefully climbed through the crack, following Black outside. Once Remus had clambered through, Black repeated the spell, and the boulder slowly rolled back in place, merging itself seamlessly with the bricks, until Remus was unable to see where exactly it began and the castle ended.

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s magical, come on,’ Black said impatiently, grabbing hold of Remus’s sleeve, and Remus allowed himself to be pulled away.

They followed a well-trekked and familiar path behind the greenhouses, walked past the eastern part of the lake, and finally, stepped into the Forbidden Forest. Remus's protests were swiftly dismissed, and they trudged on, deeper, with Remus feeling increasingly more uncomfortable, following Black as he expertly navigated them through. The trees were quiet around them, leaves only occasionally scattered by the flapping wings of birds, until finally they reached a small clearing, in a part of the forest Remus had never seen before.

For some reason, Remus hadn’t expected to find James Potter and Peter Pettigrew already waiting there but, in the end, it started to dawn on him. Potter was leaning on a broomstick, and Pettigrew was sitting on a rock, wearing what appeared to be Potter’s entire collection of Quidditch gear, down to the Gryffindor robes Potter wore as a Chaser. There were two more brooms leaning against a nearby tree, and Remus drew in a breath.

‘Oh-ho! Didn’t think you had it in you, Lupin,’ Potter said, by way of greeting, giving him a grin. ‘You don’t seem to be the kind to skip class for a game of Quidditch.’

‘Free period,’ Remus said.

‘Ah,’ Potter said, pushing the glasses that had slid off his nose back up. ‘That makes more sense. Have you ever played before?’

Remus hesitated, and then slowly shook his head. ‘Not outside of flying lessons.’

Black’s grip on Remus’s robes slackened, and he let go, walking towards the brooms. Remus felt, quite suddenly, out of his depth, and fervently wished that he’d listened to reason and stayed in the castle.

‘Don’t worry,’ Black said, fiddling with the fastening of his robes and abandoning them, thoughtlessly, onto the forest floor once they came loose. He was wearing a grey jumper underneath and there was a grin on his face. ‘You can be on my team.’

* * *

For what had been his first game of Quidditch, Remus rather thought it hadn’t gone _too_ badly. Black had been more than able to compensate for his inexpert flying, and, in the end, they only lost by ten points. Potter and Pettigrew were still in the middle of flying a victory lap around the clearing when Remus landed on wobbly legs, secretly relieved to feel the ground beneath him. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he couldn’t quite feel his fingers, but he was grinning from ear to ear, and when Black landed next to him, he, too, was grinning.

‘That was fun,’ Remus told him, slightly out of breath.

Black caught him by the shoulder and managed to stabilise him. ‘Yeah, it was,’ he said, and there was a flicker of something on his face that Remus couldn’t quite put his finger on, but then it was abruptly gone, because Potter landed right in front of the pair of them, hair messier than ever.

‘Good effort, Lupin,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ Remus responded, taking the well-meant compliment even though he was sure he hadn’t truly earned it.

‘And what shall we do to celebrate this amazing victory, Pete?’ Potter asked, turning round and finding Pettigrew, who had landed beside him. He slung his arm over Pettigrew’s shoulder, who looked very pleased about something, and then Potter looked meaningfully at Black.

‘Butterbeer!’ Pettigrew and Black exclaimed, at the same time.

Remus realised what that meant, and he felt, given the fact that these three had cheered him up immensely, he should, perhaps, pretend not to have heard that. He glanced, discreetly, down at his watch, and found that it was almost time for his next lesson; if he didn’t hurry, he was going to be spectacularly late. He broke away from the other three, carefully leaned his broom against a nearby rock, and then turned round, heading back to the beginning of the clearing, where he’d left his book bag.

He had just slung his cloak over his shoulders when Black appeared next to him. ‘You are coming, aren’t you?’ he asked, but there was something off about his voice, something Remus couldn’t quite figure out.   

‘Oh,’ Remus said, surprised at the invitation, looking up at him, his hands stilling on the buttons. ‘I –’

‘– have to get back to work,’ Black finished, with a sardonic smile.

Remus nodded.

Without a word, Black pulled back from the tree that he had been leaning against during their conversation, and his eyes found Potter and Pettigrew, who could just be seen disappearing into a copse of trees at the end of the clearing, brooms slung over their shoulders.

Remus followed his gaze and then, a bit self-consciously, did up his robes, the Head Boy badge glimmering softly on his chest. Black looked at it, then back up, meeting Remus’s eyes.

‘Thank you,’ Remus said.

‘You’re welcome,’ Black responded, and it was then Remus realised that the set about Black’s mouth may very well be disappointment. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Black lifted his hand up in a wave, and turned round, shouting for his friends to wait. He ran to catch up with them, and Remus watched until he, too, had disappeared, making his way back towards the castle only when the bell that indicated the beginning of class rang shrilly out towards the edge of the forest.

* * *

The October full moon fell just a week later, precisely in the middle of the month, and although the transformation hit Remus harder than it had in a fair while, the damage the following morning was, thankfully, nothing to write home about. He had a couple of painful bruises alongside his back and neck, and he had also, somehow, gotten a deep gash in the middle of his right hand, which made holding things painful and a bit awkward. Madam Pomfrey gave him a tub of green septic-smelling salve and a new roll of bandages, and firmly told him to redress the wound every night before bed.

‘It’ll take about a day or three to heal, and if you apply that properly,’ she said, pointing a finger at the salve, ‘you shouldn’t get a scar.’ At Remus’s surprised look, she added, ‘It’s not a bite wound.’

‘Oh,’ was Remus’s intelligent reply.

With a fond smile, she dismissed him from the Hospital Wing, and Remus gratefully changed back into his own clothes, slung his book bag over his shoulder, and headed left in the corridor, towards the library. A corridor and a half up ahead, he realised that the pain he felt came from the strap of his book bag, which was digging uncomfortably into his shoulder and, after checking to see if he was alone, he gingerly put his bag down on the stone floor, and pulled the collar of his jumper aside to have a look.

It was the first time he had seen the bruise for himself and, currently, it looked more painful than it felt. The angry flush of purple started from his left shoulder and seemingly looped around the back of his neck, because he could see that it dipped back down towards his right shoulder, disappearing underneath the fabric of his jumper. Remus sighed, let go of his collar, which softly thumped back against his neck with a small gust of air, and picked his bag back up, slinging it resolutely over his shoulder. He’d suffered worse injuries before.

The library, when he reached it, was deserted. A glance at his wristwatch revealed that it was just past ten in the morning, and classes would be well underway. Grateful for the solitude, Remus headed towards the History of Magic section, which was so large it encompassed over ten rows of magical volumes. It was usually the quietest place in the library, despite the fact that the tables were easily the largest, and the fact that the view from the tall windows looked out, amazingly, over the mountains. 

Remus claimed a set of tables for himself at the very back of the library, contentedly unpacking his bag and putting it down on a seat near him. Although he hadn’t fallen behind on all of his work, just yet, he would be soon, if he didn’t do as much work as he could today. He searched around for a bit, and finally fished out the calendar he had drawn up for himself from between his Advanced Charms and History of Magic books. He spread it out and studied it, his eyes protesting slightly at the strain.

Today, he was supposed to be finishing another draft of the translation for Professor Flitwick’s article, do his Arithmancy homework, draw up an outline for the Potions essay that was due early next week, correct and proofread the five Prefect reports he hadn’t gotten to yet, and come up with a set of new passwords for the Gryffindor common room for the upcoming months. With a small sigh, he retrieved the draft for his translation, a quill, a pot of ink, and the books he needed, and got to work.

An hour and a half into his study session, Remus was suddenly overcome by the nettling suspicion that someone was watching him, and he looked up, meeting the cool, mercurial gaze of Sirius Black, who was stood next to him. In his hands, Black was holding a book, and it was only then Remus realised that the bookcase that was stood right beside the table he was sitting at was missing one.

‘Hello,’ Remus tried, putting down his quill, and flexing his fingers.

‘What happened?’ Black asked, pointing the book at the bandages around Remus’s hand.

‘I cut myself,’ Remus said, because that was true. He had discovered, quite early on, that when it came to his werewolf-induced injuries, it was safest to keep his words as close to the truth as he could manage them.

Black let out a low whistle, and took a step forward, pulling out a chair at Remus’s table. His eyes landed on the translation Remus was working on, and he tilted his head, almost like a dog, to the side in question. ‘For Flitwick?’ he asked, reaching for the parchment.

Flattered that he should remember, though confused as to why he was interested, Remus nodded and pulled his hand up so that Black could pull it towards him. Black’s hair had grown longer, and when he bent over the parchment to read it, part of it fell over his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes.

Remus managed to make out the title of the book Black had put on the table. ‘What are you trying to do?’ he asked Black, curiously.

Black looked up from Remus’s translation and blinked at him. ‘Sorry?’ he asked.

Remus pointed at the book, and Black looked at it, and then back at Remus, eyebrows raised. ‘I’m working on something,’ he responded dryly, and then pushed the parchment back towards Remus over the table. ‘You spelled the incantation wrong.’

Surprised, Remus looked down to where Black was pointing at the parchment, only to discover, to his horror, that Black was right. He grabbed his quill, ignoring the jolt of pain the movement sent straight to his hand, and crossed out several lines with care. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to make such an elementary mistake, but he was grateful to Black for pointing it out to him. ‘Thanks,’ he said, but Black had gone, leaving only an empty chair. Frowning, Remus returned to his work.

Suddenly, there was a heavy thump, and the table Remus was sitting at wobbled dangerously for a moment. Quickly, Remus grabbed hold of the corners and managed to stabilise it. He looked up, irritated, to search for the source of the sound, only to see Black guiding a massive amount of stuff from a nearby table over to Remus’s with the aid of his wand. Slightly ruffled, Remus pulled his books and notes away, and looked at Black reproachfully. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘Sitting here,’ Black returned, somehow making it sound like Remus was being daft. With a flick of his wand, his things ordered themselves neatly into rows and stacks, and Black hung his book bag on the back of his chair, before plopping down into it.

‘Er,’ said Remus, shocked.

In response, Black only gave him a winning smile, and got to work. Remus stared at him for at least five minutes, and then, feeling even more confused, returned to his own work.

* * *

‘No,’ said Black, horrified, looking down at the parchment in his hands.

‘I’m afraid you have no say in the matter,’ Remus said, reaching, and failing, to grab the parchment that Black was holding.

Black narrowed his eyes at him, and pulled the parchment further out of Remus’s reach. ‘You are rubbish at passwords and as a Gryffindor, I am hereby revoking your right to decide them,’ Black told him, sternly, waving the parchment at Remus with every other word, as if to emphasize his point.

Remus, unimpressed, pointed his wand, muttered a spell, and grinned triumphantly as the parchment dutifully flew out of Black’s grasp and landed into Remus’s outstretched hand. Black looked shocked for a moment, but then, before Remus could respond, he had summoned the parchment back.

Remus opened his mouth, but Black held up a hand to silence him. ‘I’ll make you a deal,’ he offered. ‘You get to keep five of these and I get to make up the other five.’

‘No,’ said Remus, and caught the parchment as it flew back into his hands.

‘You’re being stubborn,’ said Black, and before Remus could do anything, he had summoned not only the parchment, but also Remus’s wand out of his hands, catching both deftly as they came zooming towards him. He gave a triumphant smirk as he pocketed Remus’s wand, and then bent down over the parchment, which he made a show of smoothing out on the table in front of him. ‘I’d say this one goes, this one, definitely this one, and yes, also this one,’ Black said, crossing out the passwords Remus had written down with flourish. He made a humming sound in the back of his throat, and then crossed out another password, leaving only five. ‘There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Remus looked at him crossly, and then, with a strength that wasn’t really his own, pulled the parchment out from underneath Black’s fingers. Black made a protesting noise and scrambled up from his chair as Remus held the parchment over his head. For a moment, Black did nothing, and then suddenly catapulted himself forward, making a rather messy and slightly uncoordinated grab for the parchment in an attempt to catch Remus unawares. Black missed, and Remus let out a low hiss of pain when Black's palm smacked painfully against his bandaged hand. Remus immediately let go of the parchment, which fluttered down to the floor.

‘Fuck,’ Black blurted.

Remus lowered his hand and pressed his finger to the wound, which was stinging, in an effort to try and stop it from bleeding, but he was too late. Blood was beginning to seep through his bandages, and he carefully unpinned the front, unravelling them onto his lap. The gash in his hand was bleeding, and Remus dabbed at it a bit hopelessly with his bandage, biting the inside of his cheek as blood spilled, messily, down onto the library table.

‘I’m sorry,’ Black said, quietly, his voice sounding very close by.

Remus looked up to find Black’s face inches from his own, and wordlessly, he held out his uninjured hand for his wand, which Black produced out of his back pocket without further prompting. Remus murmured a spell to clean up the blood from his wound, and then tried to get his bag, which was just out of reach. Black retrieved it for him, and put it down on the table, pushing open the flap. Remus reached inside and found the tub of salve and a new set of bandages and, ignoring Black's offer of help, he took off the lid of the tub, applied some cream to the wound, and then redressed it, gingerly, with a new bandage.

‘I’m sorry,’ Black said, again, when Remus had finished. He sank down to his haunches to retrieve the parchment off the floor, putting it back on the table. ‘For the record, I still think “ _Brutum Fulmen_ ” is a stupid password,’ he added, in a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

‘That’s because you probably don’t know what it means,’ Remus told him pointedly, vanishing, with a simple twist of his wrist, the blood off the library table in front of him.

Black snorted. ‘I wish. I had to learn that sort of wank when I was growing up. _Scientia potentia est_ , and all that,’ he said, pronouncing the words perfectly.

Remus stared at him.

‘Shut up,’ Black told him, and then, for a third time, ‘Sorry about your hand.’

‘It’s fine,’ Remus responded, softly.

* * *

In the end, Black had simply acted as if the whole password thing hadn’t happened and he had worked, quite diligently, alongside Remus for the better part of the next two hours. He had, at some point, headed to the Great Hall for lunch, and then presumably to class, taking all of his things with him. In the middle of his Arithmancy problems, Remus’s hand started bleeding again, and he gave up, packing his things and heading back to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey made a big fuss over his wound, and confined him, unfairly, Remus felt, to his bed.

She released him the next morning, because Remus had insisted he couldn’t very well miss any more classes if there was nothing wrong with him, and she had been forced to agree. Remus’s day began with a quiet Charms lesson, which was followed by a rather awkward Potions lesson, during which, somehow, he managed to lose some of his bandages in his Hiccoughing Solution, although it wasn’t worse off for it. After lunch, he had Transfiguration, and his final lesson of the day was Defence Against the Dark Arts during which, despite his bandaged hand, he managed to beat his duelling partner.

Remus looked at his timetable as soon as class had let out, and realised he had three hours between now and dinner during which he could finish his work, which he was now, for the first time this year, a little behind on. He headed towards his table in the library and found, to his surprise, Black already sitting there. There were volumes and volumes of books spread out on the table around him, and he was chewing on the end of his quill.

He hadn’t heard Remus approach, and looked up, startled, when Remus set his bag down on the table. ‘Hello,’ Remus said, confused.

‘Huffo,’ Black returned, then seemed to realise that that hadn’t been a word, and spat out the end of his quill. ‘Sorry. Hello,’ he offered, giving Remus that familiar grin, and then returning to his work.

Remus stared, and then finally shook his head, and took out his things, making room for his own work on the table. He carefully pushed aside several of the books and noticed the titles on some of them, recognising them as books he had read before, for Flitwick’s article. He looked over, and could just see the top of the parchment that Black was now stabbing at, annoyed, with his quill.

‘All right?’ Remus ventured.

‘No,’ Black responded, heaving a big sigh. He pushed aside the parchment he had been working on, and put his arms on the table, resting his head on them.  

Remus bit his lip, and wondered if he should do what he was thinking of doing. He was a year above Black, and easily one of the top students in his year, so if Black was having a problem with his homework, Remus should, theoretically, be able to help him. Remus breathed out an inaudible breath, and peered at the parchment. Finally, making up his mind, he asked, ‘May I?’

Black raised his head a little, blinking. He seemed to be considering something, but then he nodded, and allowed Remus to pull the parchment out from underneath his elbow. Remus put the scroll down on the table, unrolling it carefully. It was full of half-finished calculations, crossed out formulae, and haphazard notes that seemed to encompass a series of spells that Remus had never heard of. Frowning, Remus moved his finger further down, until he found something that seemed to make the most sense.

It was a drawing of the first floor of Hogwarts, complete with corridors and a passageway behind a painting that Remus hadn’t known was there. Beside it stood a series of vague scribbles, of which Remus could make out “Plinovsky” and “footsteps” and, underneath that, “socks”, which he presumed wasn’t related to the other two things. For all it probably was, homework it certainly _wasn’t._

‘This -’ Remus said, and then looked again, and finally added, ‘A map?’

Black looked at him for a moment, and then slowly nodded, raising his head up off his arms.

‘I see,’ Remus said. ‘What are you having trouble with?’

Black pointed wordlessly at a set of runic, Arithmancy-like equations that were scribbled down in a corner of the parchment, which continued all the way down to the other side of the page. Remus studied them, and then looked over them again with his quill, trying to follow the way Black had broken the main equation down and how he had attempted to solve it. In the end, he appeared to have gotten stuck around the third step, which wasn’t too surprising, Remus realised suddenly.

Slowly, he crossed out the rune “isaz” in the equation and replaced it with the symbol for “sowilo”. Then, he added a number, and slid the parchment back towards Black, who was frowning at him. Black took the parchment off the table and, shooting Remus one last look of incomprehension, he held it up in front of his face, reading through Remus’s work.

After a few minutes, he put the parchment back down, copied the equation anew, and attempted to solve it with the help of Remus’s additions. With some effort, and a nudge from Remus to remember to carry over his forgotten numbers, he managed to solve it, and he stared at the parchment for a few moments, before glancing up, grey eyes bright. ‘You’re brilliant, Remus,’ he said, breathlessly.

For some reason he couldn’t really explain, Remus’s cheeks flushed a heavy shade of red, and he had to pretend to be suddenly very busy looking for something in his bag until it went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish you all a very, very happy New Year, and I hope that it’s wonderful and magical and full of love. Thank you for your support of this little fic so far, it is so appreciated, and I’ll see you all next week with a new chapter ♥


	12. Chapter 11 - to appeal

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 11: _to appeal_

When Remus woke up, on a blustery, cold November morning, it was raining. The last remnants of his dream danced tantalisingly away, and he pushed aside the covers, putting his feet on the cold stone floor of Ravenclaw Tower. For a few moments, he just sat there, head resting in his hands, gathering his bearings, and then, with what felt like herculean effort, he pulled himself up from his four-poster bed and headed into the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth with the frothy green toothpaste his mother had lovingly packed for him, pulling a face when the minty shards in it gently disintegrated on his tongue. When he was done, he spat out his toothpaste and rinsed, wiping his mouth with his towel. He raised his eyes towards his reflection and sighed. The summer tan to his skin had long since faded, replaced now with a familiar, ashy grey tinge, his blue eyes framed by smudgy dark circles. He looked decidedly unhealthy, but there was really nothing he could do about that, so he dressed, grabbed his books and his bag, and let the day unfold.

After a full day of classes, a last-minute tutoring session done in the Great Hall at lunch, and a Prefect meeting that ran far longer than it realistically should have, Remus headed into the library to try and get some work done. As he walked past her table, he nodded at Madam Pince, who returned his nod with a harried look about her. Before he could ask her if something was wrong, she headed into the stacks, muttering under her breath. Frowning, Remus headed towards the History of Magic section and there found Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew already sitting at his favourite table. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, and whatever they were working on was spread out over more than three tables, which they had pushed together.

They looked up when they heard him approach and Black shot him a conspiring grin, Potter gave a cheerful wave, and Pettigrew offered a contained sort of smile. The conversation had paused, and they seemed to be waiting for him to do something. ‘Hello,’ Remus greeted, carefully, sinking down into a chair.

Ever since he had helped Black with the map, which he had revealed later to be a group project, the three Gryffindors had been around a lot more. When Remus was studying in the library, they would join him at his table, and when he went into the tower classroom, they were usually already there; Black, inevitably, smoking, Potter’s hair whipping furiously in the wind that blew through the open window, Pettigrew chasing after notes that threatened to fly off. It was strange, and Remus didn’t want to ask them, because he wasn’t quite sure, but it seemed to him that they were becoming friends, of a sort. And he had no idea what to make of that exactly, so he attempted to not think of it, steadily ignoring the hint of panic that would manifest in the back of his head, sounding a lot like his mother, whenever he dwelled on it for too long. The conversation had already carried on by the time Remus pulled himself out of his thoughts, and he caught the tail-end of it.

‘– we’ve already _tried_ that,’ said Pettigrew, exasperatedly, and then Remus noticed that Pettigrew was looking at him with an unreadable expression. With his next breath in, Remus caught a whiff of something truly unexpected, something bleak and black that smelled a little like hurt and of jealousy. Self-consciously, Remus lowered his eyes towards his homework, and pretended not to have noticed. Sometimes, he thought Pettigrew resented him, just the tiniest bit, but then Pettigrew was friendly towards him and gratefully received Remus’s offered help with his schoolwork, so he was sure he was reading that wrong.

Potter never smelled of anything other than grass and some kind of wood, birch maybe, which Remus guessed to be his cologne. He was clever and always kind to Remus, and easily the most level-headed out of the three Gryffindors, although that sometimes disappeared under his mischievous streak, which ran deep. He also spoke about Quidditch a great deal, which sometimes meant Remus found himself pretending that yes, he had watched that match between Puddlemere and the Tutshills, and yes, of course, Puddlemere were the best team. If he had any inkling that Remus was only pretending, Potter never let on, which Remus thought was quite decent of him.

‘What do you think, Lupin?’ Black asked him, and it took a few more times of Black saying his name before Remus realised that he was being addressed. He looked up and found Black’s gaze on him, questioning, but with an underlying hint of worry in his brows. Remus felt himself, for no reason at all, flush.

Black was the easily most surprising out of the three. Like Potter, he mostly smelled of the cologne he wore, something woodsy and often tangy, like oranges, though he did seem to worry quite a lot. He was often, though apparently subconsciously, arrogant, and he was clever, frequently surprising Remus with his thorough insight into the inner structure of magic. But he smoked too much, and he had the annoying habit of messing up his hair in the back, like Potter did, only it looked oddly inelegant and strangely out of character when he did it. Most prominently, Black wore his heart on his sleeve, and his emotions were easily displayed across his face. Sometimes, Remus wondered how he hadn’t quite seen that before.

Black said his name once more, and Remus realised that he was still waiting for an answer. ‘I’m sorry?’ he asked.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Potter surveying him over the rim of his glasses with a thoughtful look. ‘You all right, mate?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Remus told him, with practised ease, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth. The full moon was coming up in just three days, and he was already feeling the pull of it, ever-presently looming and awful. This whole week, he had averaged maybe five hours of sleep each night, tossing and turning and eventually getting out of bed, trying to get some sort of grip on the homework he still had to do.

Pettigrew seemed eager to change the subject, and drew their attention away from Remus by pointing out a flaw in the map they hadn’t noticed before. Black threw Remus one last thoughtful look, but allowed himself to be pulled into the discussion, leaving Remus to unpack his bag. He did so, without paying too much attention, pulling out notes and books and his calendar, which he consulted. With some alarm, he noticed that he’d misread it yesterday; his History of Magic essay was actually due tonight, at 7 o’clock, instead of tomorrow, like he had thought. Remus stared at his calendar in horror.

Deep down, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace. He had too much to do, too little time to do it, and sometimes, selfishly, he wished that he could split himself in two and get double the amount of work done. He would have more time to spend on his essays, more time to sleep, more time to appreciate the fact that somehow, oddly, weirdly, he seemed to have found, for the first time in his life, friends.

He bit down on his lip until it bled, and he swallowed, blowing out a shaky breath. The other three seemed not to notice him, for which he was glad, as he unscrewed the cap of his ink bottle, took his quill, a fresh sheet of parchment and his notes from the last three classes, and began writing. As time progressed, his hand shaking with the effort to keep his handwriting legible, the conversation around him faded, like a radio being turned down, and he felt sleep pull at him, relentlessly, until his eyes fell shut off their own accord. Shocked, he forced them open again what felt like a minute later.

Only it hadn’t exactly been a minute, it turned out, because Potter and Pettigrew had gone, the sky outside had grown dark, and it was just Black sitting opposite him. Remus blinked a couple of times, feeling slightly nauseous and clammy, his back damp with sweat.

At that moment, Black looked up, and smiled at him. ‘All right?’ he asked.

‘I –’ Remus said, groggily, and rubbed at his eyes with his fist in an effort to try and get the sleep out. He cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I think I –’

‘– fell asleep in the middle of a conversation?’ Black finished for him, and presumably he meant it to be playful, but there was a heavy note of concern in his voice, and the sticky smell of it was rising up off his robes, drifting over to Remus in waves, making his stomach churn. ‘Yeah, you did,’ Black continued. ‘Hell of a way to get out of answering a question you don’t know the answer to.’

‘I didn’t mean to –’ Remus bristled, his voice hoarse, but Black only raised an eyebrow in response. Remus looked down at the table, feeling oddly chastised. ‘Sorry.’

‘Stop apologising for everything,’ Black said impatiently. ‘It’s the most ridiculous habit.’

‘Sorry,’ Remus muttered. ‘Er, how long was I –’

Black had bent his head over the parchment in front of him, and replied to Remus without looking up. ‘Three hours, give or take. Jim wanted to fly and Peter went to fawn over him, as per.’

Remus looked at him for a moment, and then down at his essay, which lay, half-finished, in front of him. ‘You make it sound like you don’t like him very much,’ he said, without thinking, and then almost wished he could take it back, because Black was looking at him in surprise, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his fringe, but then he shrugged dismissively, and put his attention back on his parchment again.

A little while later, Remus’s History of Magic essay having progressed past its initial, unsure stages, into something that could quite possibly earn him an “O”, Black gave sudden, happy shout of triumph, startling Remus, and making him lose the sentence he had been trying to perfect, for the last ten minutes. With a sigh, he glanced up.

Black only gave a magnetic grin, and almost leapt out of his chair, pushing forward the parchment he had been working on.

 _For fuck’s sake this is no time for jokes, Potter, they’re not appreciated_ , it read, in what Remus presumed to be Black’s handwriting, letters elegant and looping in a way only purebloods still had their children practise, these days. Unsure of what Black was expecting of him, exactly, Remus looked back up at him, his eyebrows knitted into a frown.

Black made an impatient noise, gesturing back down at the parchment, and Remus dutifully watched as the words, suddenly, faded out of existence and new words materialised on the page, in unfamiliar handwriting, which was small and hardly legible. _I resent that, I have an excellent sense of humour. Pete says you best give him one of these, too._

‘Oh,’ said Remus, surprised, as Black took the parchment from him.

‘They’re similar to the Zonko ones,’ Black said eagerly. ‘You know? The _Instant Communicators_ or whatever they’re called. I wanted to get James one for Christmas, but he insisted it’d be a laugh to try and make one that would last longer than twenty-four hours, and I’ve done it!’

‘That’s –’ Remus began.

‘Brilliant,’ Black finished for him, triumphantly. ‘I know.’

Remus shook his head, but he was smiling. ‘They’re quite clever, I’ll give you that. Can I see it? I’d be interested to know how you timed –’

‘I’ll give you one better,’ Black interrupted him, again, grinning. ‘You can have one too.’

‘What?’ Remus asked.

‘You can have one too,’ Black repeated. ‘I’m getting quite fed up traipsing around the castle looking for you and this’ll be much easier.’

Remus could only stare at him in response.

* * *

True to form, over the next week and half, with the Christmas holidays fast approaching, Black made liberal use of the parchment he had hand-delivered to Remus at breakfast the next morning. During Remus’s last class of the day, the parchment had lit up with Black’s request to _Meet at the library in 10? – SB_ , to which Remus had, for some reason a bit regretfully, responded to with _I’ve got a Prefect meeting at 4 o’clock, sorry._ When Remus’s words had fully sunk into the page, indicating that Black had read his message, a minute or so later, the response was quick: _After then? Jim and I want to discuss the map with you_. At that moment, the bell had rung, shrilly, signalling the end of class, and it was only after the Prefect meeting that Remus responded with _All right then_ and found, when he got to the library, Potter and Black already waiting for him, notes and sheets of parchment spread out on the tables in front of them.

Sometimes, observations on Black’s classmates or teachers would appear on the parchment, which Remus had now taken to spreading out under his notes whenever he was in class, so that he wouldn’t miss anything. _Lowry’s on the warpath today_ , Black wrote, on Thursday morning, when Remus was in the middle of Charms, _best try not to make any more desks explode._

 _I’ve never made a desk explode_ , Remus wrote back, just before the end of class, and saw the response a minute later, scribbled in a corner of the parchment: _you’re missing out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ Remus shook his head and made his way over to one of the towers for Arithmancy, but not before pointing out to Black that one exclamation mark would have sufficed to communicate his pyromanic enthusiasm. The resentful _Manners, Lupin_ appeared besides his left hand in the middle of lunch, to which Remus responded only with _Grammar, Black_ , and that had been the end of that.

Sometimes, when Remus was bent over yet another essay in the library, calculations and formulae would appear, with question marks and arrows pointing to the parts Black was struggling with, and Remus would need to take his time with those, pondering over the problem when he wasn’t working for school or as a Head Boy. The possible answer to Black’s latest runic-based question occurred to Remus only when he was splayed out in a bed in the Hospital Wing, three days after the full moon, and he framed his reply carefully with a lot of _It might be_ s and _Maybe_ s and, also, a _Plinovsky has a book on this, in the Ancient Runes section, Something Runes and Fairylands?_ The answer came a day later, after class, and Remus could almost hear Black’s amusement coming off the page: _The Fantastic World of Ancient Runes, but close enough_.

But sometimes, which were maybe Remus’s favourite times, Black would ask him ridiculous questions that had very little to do with anything. _Cockroach Clusters or Dragon Claws?_ appeared on Remus’s parchment in History of Magic, and Remus’s, perhaps slightly melodramatic, response of _I think killing me would be preferable to either of those_ was met only with _You are really bad at this game_, the word “bad” having been underlined four times. Last Wednesday, surprisingly, a little drawing of what appeared to be a tent glimmered through, and then there were stripes, divided over two words, and the letters “T” and “S”. It was only after frowning for a bit that Remus realised that he was meant to be solving this, so he wrote down each of the letters he could think of in turn, only to lose miserably, failing to have guessed _Toothflossing Spearmints, Lupin, you heathen_.

Remus got his revenge the next day, when, first thing at breakfast, he drew his own riddle, and took great satisfaction in drawing a little hangman after Black had failed to guess _The Greek Stones Speak: The Theory of Archaeology in Ancient Greece_. A slightly pointed _No one in the world would’ve gotten that, Lupin_ appeared during Remus’s second lesson, and Remus smiled, responding with _It’s my favourite book_.

It took a few moments, but then the phrase _αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν_ appeared in the top-hand left corner of the parchment and Remus could only stare at it, uncomprehending, before responding with _Really?_

 _Scientia potentia est, Lupin, keep up_ , came the flippant answer, and Remus never told Black that he had had to copy over the signs, and look up their meaning in a dusty Greek dictionary in the library.

* * *

Three days before the Christmas holidays, after the last Hogwarts Open House of the year that he had volunteered to sit for, Remus was more than ready to put this year behind him. He was, finally, all caught up with his school work and he had already finished and submitted the final draft of his translation for Flitwick’s article. If Flitwick approved it, it would free up some of Remus’s time in the upcoming year, and he was looking forward to having a bit of a break. Due to his business, Remus had had no time to check the parchment today.

After wishing Perkins, a first year Hufflepuff who frequented the Hogwarts Open House, happy holidays, Remus gathered his things, locked up behind him, and made his way to the tower classroom. It was often invaded by Black, Potter and Pettigrew, but today, it was empty, save for the sharp wind that blew through the gap between the barely-closed windows. Remus shook his head, dropping his bag onto a nearby, dusty desk, and then clambered onto the window sill, opening the latch and lowering himself, gingerly, onto the tower.

It was a mild day, especially for December, but Remus still shivered, rubbing his arms over his white oxford shirt while he gently tugged at the knot of his tie, loosening the fabric. He made his way over to the left side of the tower, and rested his arms on the tower wall, looking out onto the lake, and sinking deeper into his own thoughts.

He heard, rather than saw, someone land on the floor of the tower behind him and Remus looked round, seeing Black rise up, brushing dust off his robes. Remus smiled in greeting and Black shot him a grin, his body thrumming with a nervous, but excitable, kind of energy, as he approached. Remus turned his gaze back to the surface of the lake, which glimmered with the last rays of sunlight.

‘So,’ Black said, by way of greeting, ‘think you can come?’

Remus blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’ he asked, turning his head and meeting Black’s gaze.  

‘For Christmas,’ Black clarified. At Remus’s blank look, he heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Honestly, Lupin, I gave you that parchment for a reason, do try and look at it every once in a while.’

Remus gave him a look, but dutifully accepted the parchment that Black was holding out to him, and read it.

_Lupin, James’s parents wants to know if you’d like to spend Christmas at their house. I’ll be coming, too, so it’ll be splendid. Pete’s skiing, which I’ve already mocked him for relentlessly, so there’s no need to ask, but it’d be great if you’d want to. Let me know._

Remus’s heart sank. The invitation, so lovingly extended, couldn’t have come at a worse time. Because, for the first time in a very long time, Remus wouldn’t be spending Christmas with his family; instead, he would be staying home, in Wales, to wait for the full moon which fell, this year, on Christmas Eve. He looked down at the parchment and purposefully avoided Black’s gaze, which was trained on him.

‘Well?’ Black prompted, after a little while, impatiently.

‘I’m spending the day with my family,’ Remus said, making an effort to keep his voice neutral.

Black wrinkled his nose in distaste, taking the parchment from him. ‘Can’t get out of it?’

Remus gave a soft smile. ‘Sorry.’

In response, Black heaved a great sigh, and put the parchment back in his pocket. ‘No need to apologise, can’t really fault you for having a family. I’ll let them know.’

‘Do tell them thank you for thinking to invite me, will you?’ Remus asked him.

Black elbowed him, amused. ‘Prat,’ he said, patting down his pockets and eventually fishing out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one with a lazy flick of his wand and putting it between his lips. ‘Did you want one?’ he asked, holding the pack out to Remus.

‘Go on then,’ Remus said, carefully leaning forward, and taking one.

* * *

The train ride back home was uneventful, and Remus spent it, for the first time, in the Prefects carriage. There were a handful of Prefects who were also travelling home for the holidays, and there was a cheery hum of conversation in the air, while Remus talked to Dahlia about her plans for Christmas break. When the train arrived back in London, his mother was already waiting for him, and the drive home was long and icy, the early snow fall in this part of the country leading to them to arrive home around dinner time.

His mother had already decorated the house for Christmas, with garlands wrapped around the banister and a sea of twinkling lights in the fir trees in the front yard. When they stepped through the front door, the smell of hearty, meaty stew wafted through from the kitchen. At his questioning look, his mother only smiled. After Remus had lugged his trunk up the stairs, he headed back downstairs, setting the table and helping his mother make the last of dinner before his father came home.

The days following his arrival were a boring blur of homework and shared dinners, his mother growing increasingly tense as the full moon approached. Remus, himself, did his very best to ignore her worries, because the full moon was going to come regardless of how he felt about it. In the afternoon of the 24th of December, his mother gathered them around the fire, and spent a lot of time running between the living room and the kitchen, fielding phone calls from family and carrying in delicious-smelling food. His parents gifted him several rolls of parchment and two new ink bottles, which should carry Remus through the rest of the year. Remus thanked them, and spent the rest of his evening thumbing through, but barely reading, one of his school books.

The full moon, which fell that night, wasn’t too great. Whenever he was at home, Remus transformed out in the shed on the very edge of the garden, which had been magically enhanced to be bigger on the inside, and could fit, just comfortably, a fully grown werewolf. However, the transformations Remus had had there over the years had certainly taken its toll and with the magic tied up into the very structure of the building, there was only so much repairing his father could do after each full moon. After Remus had undressed, just before nightfall, the cold was steadily seeping into the cracks in the wood, gales of blustering wind blowing through the gaps and making him shiver.

When Remus came to, the next morning, the cold was the first thing he noticed. Shivering, his lips blue and fingers stiff, he rasped an answer to the knock that sounded on the front door of the shed. Numb with cold, Remus watched with a light-headed kind of apathy as the door was opened, by magic, by his father, who quickly stepped aside to let his mother through. She made a noise of discontent and rushed in, throwing a warm blanket over Remus’s shoulders. The scratchy wool of it snagged in open wound somewhere on his body and Remus made a soft, keening noise, like a wounded animal.

‘Where does it hurt?’ his mother asked him, and Remus couldn’t even speak, teeth chattering, until he felt the welcome gust of a Warming Charm blow over him. Remus looked up and found his father still standing in the opening of the shed, his wand raised. _That’s new_ , Remus thought, just before unconsciousness claimed him.

When he came to, he was laid on the sofa, and the soft, hazy lights surrounding him focused themselves into a Christmas tree, stood, in all its glittery, silver splendour, next to the hearth. Remus tried to sit up, and immediately winced.  

‘Do try and take it easy, darling,’ his mother’s voice came, and he found her sitting next to the sofa, her pleated navy blue skirt, which she only ever wore at Christmas, spread out on the floor. She stood and pushed him back down gently, so that he was laid back against the pillows.

‘Happy Christmas, Mum,’ Remus croaked, and she laughed, a twinkling of a sound.

‘Would you like some hot cocoa?’ she asked.

‘I think so,’ Remus replied.

‘Thought you might,’ she said, smiling. ‘I may have had this already prepared.’

She gestured to the coffee table, and it was then Remus realised that the delicious smell that had been wafting up was coming from the tray stood on it, the plate filled with his mother’s mince pies, which were easily the very best Remus had ever tasted. Remus smiled, or attempted to, and accepted, with some help, the cup of cocoa she held out to him and a mince pie.

‘You did all right, you know,’ his mother said, a little while later, with the cocoa finished and no less than four mince pies polished off between them. ‘Your injuries aren’t actually that bad. You’ve got a cut, just here –’ she reached for his hand and, gently, pressed his own fingers against the wound, which ran from the top of his eyebrow across his left eye, which was swollen shut. ‘I put on that cream Madam Pomfrey recommended and it’s already starting to heal into a scar, so that’s good, and the swelling should go down within a day or two. You’ve also got some bruises and,’ her voice dropped, slightly, ‘you’ve got a bite wound on your thigh.’

Remus stared at her, horrified.

‘I know, darling,’ she said, softly, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Remus tried to school his face into a neutral expression. ‘It’s fine,’ he responded.

‘Your father did his best, but you know how it is. Strict bedrest until the skin heals, and then you’ll be out and about. Your father has already spoken to Professor Flitwick and he said you could take as long as you needed to recover. Now, what would you like to do?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling. ‘After all, it’s already Boxing Day.’

He gave a faint smile. ‘Actually, if it’s all right –’

The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a shrill ringing. His mother’s gaze was as bewildered as Remus’s as they both seemed to realise, at the same moment, that it was the doorbell. His mother pushed him back down so that he was lying on the sofa, covering him, fully, with a blanket she had knitted herself, and then she stood up.

There came some easily audible grumbling from the kitchen, and then his father poked his head around the door. ‘I should hope that’s not your bloody church people,’ he said, vaguely threatening, and for once, Remus fully agreed with this sentiment, as his father disappeared, and then opened the door.

‘Hello Mr Lupin!’ said the jovial, but instantly recognisable, voice of James Potter.

Remus froze.

‘Best wishes for the season and happy Christmas to you and yours,’ came, inevitably, Sirius Black’s voice, polite and respectful.  

Remus looked at his mother with a horrified expression, but she was looking at him with a kind of disappointment that Remus had only rarely seen. ‘Stay here,’ she said, sharply, and closed the door behind her. The thing about the house was, however, that it was old, and the walls were thin, and Remus could, if he focused very hard, hear the rest of the conversation.

‘I’m so sorry,’ his mother said, her tone apologetic. ‘But we’re just in the middle of our Christmas dinner with family.’

‘Just five minutes, Mrs Lupin, and then we’ll be on our way. We can’t very well leave here without giving Remus his gift,’ Black said, his voice smooth and charming like Remus had never heard before.

‘Boys,’ said his father, and Remus drew in a breath at the underlying tone of it, which was, instantly, recognisable as fury. ‘I appreciate the gesture. If you wish, you may leave your gift here for Remus to open later, but I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you.’

There was a muffled murmur of words, but then a very polite, ‘We understand,’ from Potter. ‘We’re sorry to have disturbed you. We’ll give Remus his gift at school. We wish you a very happy Christmas.’

‘Thank you,’ said his father, stiffly, and then the door was shut, and Remus could hardly draw a breath, before the door to the living room was smashed open, and there his father stood, trembling with fury.

But it was not him who spoke, but Remus’s mother, who stepped out from behind his father, and gazed at Remus with angry tears in her eyes. ‘What on earth were you thinking, Remus?’ she said, and her voice was hard, and accusing.

‘Mum,’ Remus began, meaning to reason with her, but before he could say anything else, his father burst forth with words of his own.

‘Do you have _any_ idea what you’re doing?’ his father snarled, his fists shaking, clenching in and out, as if he was having trouble controlling himself. ‘What you’re risking? Everything you’ve worked for – being Head Boy, top of your year?’ he demanded, his voice furious and rising, and the longer Remus looked at him, the more he felt his own anger simmering beneath the surface. ‘Forget about what it means for me and your mother when word of _what_ you are gets out –’

His mother gasped, and his father seemed, then, in that moment, to realise what he had said.  He seemingly deflated before Remus’s eyes, and there was a devastated look on his face.  ‘I didn’t mean –’ he tried.

‘Yes, you did,’ responded Remus quietly. Without looking at his father, he sat up, throwing the blanket off. It took him a few attempts to sit up and, finally, to stand, wobbly but steady, as the pain from the bite-wound shot, sharply, down his leg. Determined not to show the pain, Remus drew himself up to his full height. ‘I’m going to my room.’

‘Remus, really, I –’ his father said, and put a hand on his shoulder, but Remus merely shrugged it off, effortlessly, and stepped past both his parents, into the hall. Later, he wasn’t able to explain exactly how he’d done it, but he was up the stairs, despite the blurry anger to his vision, within minutes. He got into bed, drew the red, plaid comforter up to his chin, and closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself down.  

In the end, the anger leaked away, eventually, by which time the light outside had changed into an inky, jet-black evening. Now, there remained only a bleak emptiness inside him, and a feeling of something else that Remus had never felt before, which was ringing out through his mind like a promise: a determination that, as soon as he had graduated, he was never going to come back. Perhaps deciding that leaving him on his own was the best thing to do, his parents had gone to visit the Baines family, if the note his mother pushed under the door was anything to go by.

Presently, Remus was looking up, out of his window, tracing the stars with his finger, as he had done when he was a child. He deliberately skipped over the moon, which shone a beam of bright white light onto the feet of his bed, and found, instead, Perseus. With a slight frown, he attempted to draw the constellation, from beginning to end, from memory. After a few tries, he managed, and smiled softly, in amusement, putting his hand back down, and nestling it under the pillow. He drew in a breath and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come claim him.

What felt like minutes later, Remus awoke to a loud creaking noise, and he opened one bleary eye, mostly still asleep, not even looking for the source of it, until he noticed the black silhouette against his window, and then he opened both his eyes, and grabbed his wand, aiming it, without thought, at the window, a feeling of clammy panic grabbing hold of him. The last time someone had climbed into his bedroom, it had led to him becoming what he was today, and he wasn’t about to have a repeat of that.

There was a soft creak and then his window opened, and the silhouette was inside, and Remus was just about to fire a spell, when a wand was gently lit, and the grinning face of James Potter appeared. ‘’Ello!’ he whispered, in a convincing Cockney accent, and then he slid his feet onto Remus’s desk, noisily scattering Remus’s books, which he appeared not to notice. He turned back round to the open window, making a fussy noise when nothing was forthcoming, and leaned out.

‘Honestly, Black, you’d think you’ve never done this before,’ he stage-whispered, and then, to Remus’s horror, he was hoisting Sirius Black up, who was muttering darkly about pipes, but allowed himself to be pulled onto Remus’s desk. Potter jumped onto the carpet, Black closed the latch behind him, and then the two of them were stood in the barely-visible light of the moon, beaming and proud.

Remus, who had, at his point, sat up in his bed, felt his heart hammer in his throat.

‘Thought we might find you here,’ Potter said airily, as if he always broke into people’s rooms in the middle of the night.

‘Lovely of you to invite us in,’ Black added.

Before Remus could say anything, do anything, Black had pointed his wand at Remus’s ceiling, and had murmured a spell, filling the whole room with a quiet, cosy light. Remus winced and held up his hand against the sudden onslaught of brightness. He felt a heavy weight at the foot of the bed, his mattress dipping to accommodate the combined weight of Black and Potter, who seemed to be sitting on either side of him. Remus lowered his hand, looking at them with surprise, filled with a kind of warmth that he couldn’t quite put into words.

‘Just thought we’d pop in for Christmas –’ Potter began but, suddenly, the ear-splitting grin on his face faded, and it was then, too late, that Remus realised that the full moon had been just last night, and that his injuries were plain to see.

‘What the _hell_ happened to you?’ Black demanded, his voice dark and threatening.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν is Greek for "Ever to excel". It's from the Iliad, which I would assume to be on Sirius's required reading list growing up.
> 
> Oh, this chapter was fussy, dragging its feet, and I ended up, eventually, writing it back to front, which I've never done before, but it worked, thankfully.
> 
> I do hope you'll like it.


	13. Chapter 12 - to propagate

**Mercury Lies**  
Chapter 12: _to propagate_

Remus’s mind raced, past shards of words and excuses that sounded off, and flat, and untrue. He had never been in the position where he had had to explain his injuries while they were still so fresh, and terrible looking, and by the look of anger that was blossoming upon Black’s face, he was clearly not making things better for himself the longer it took him to answer.

‘I had an accident,’ he settled on, eventually, shaping his voice into neutrality. He had never been the very best at lying, but he could always manage to, if he gave it his best effort. This time, though, it was proving to be a bit more difficult, and he carefully slid his hands under the comforter, to prevent the two of them from noticing the fact that they were trembling.

Potter sucked in a sympathetic breath. ‘Did you fall or something?’

Because his mind didn’t seem to be able to supply him with anything else that seemed remotely credible, Remus nodded, happy for the excuse. ‘I was in the garden and just smashed right into –’ he tailed off, lifting one of his hands out from under the blanket again and making a vague pushing motion forward, as if to prompt them to make up that part themselves.

‘A wall? A tree? A door?’ Potter supplied, helpfully, his eyebrows arching higher and higher on his forehead with each passing word.  

‘Yeah,’ Remus admitted, not really choosing between the three. He was starting to sorely regret not having seen this situation coming after what had happened earlier today, but he felt that he was, at least, getting somewhere. Doubtlessly, the best way out of this would be to change the subject as fast as he could. ‘Anyway, had a fall, smashed my face. I spent most of the day reading upstairs.’

Potter nodded, appearing to believe him, but Black, who had been silent during the exchange, was a different story. He was looking at Remus with a cool, calculating look in his eyes, and Remus tilted his face up, meeting his gaze with a flare of defiance. In response, the look on Black’s face intensified, and his jaw clenched, his cheekbones becoming oddly prominent in the process. It was then, in that very specific moment, that Remus realised why his parents had been so very intent on him not making friends. Because, while he chose to invest his time in pulling pranks and making the map, Black was obviously incredibly clever, and if he were ever to figure out what had really happened, Remus would lose his place at Hogwarts, Head Boy or not. After a moment or two, Black seemed to arrive at some sort of conclusion. ‘You’re lying,’ he said, perceptively. ‘Your dad could’ve healed you in a second.’

Remus raised his eyebrows. ‘My Muggle relatives were here all day celebrating Christmas,’ he lied, putting pointed, albeit unnecessary, stress on the second word. ‘I can hardly have my face be injured one minute and be perfectly fine the next when they all saw me fall.’ It was the furthest he had ever gone from the truth in relation to his condition and the feeling it produced in the pit of his stomach was unsettling, although he didn’t really know why.  

Black pulled his lips in, thoughtfully. ‘So you thought it best to go to bed with your face all messed up?’ he continued, unbelieving.

Remus gave him a look. ‘I’ve had worse,’ he said, without thinking about it too much, and almost missed the nearly identical looks of horror that flashed across their faces. He sighed. ‘I’m _fine_ ,’ he stressed. ‘My dad will heal it in the morning.’

‘Explains why he didn’t want us to see you,’ Potter said, leaning forward to inspect Remus’s injuries, and shaking his head sympathetically. ‘Sorry, mate.’

‘Does it, though?’ Black asked him, sharply. ‘Because we agreed that he was acting well weird.’

Remus looked down at his duvet. ‘He doesn’t really –’ he began, but stopped, because his father’s words from earlier this evening suddenly crossed his mind, and he found that he didn’t know how to finish that sentence, properly.

‘He doesn’t really?’ Black prompted, voice just on the very edge of polite, leaving the question hanging in the air. Remus avoided looking at him and kept quiet.

‘Let’s not,’ Potter advised. Remus looked up and saw, much to his surprise, that Potter and Black were looking at each other, and seemed to be communicating in some unspoken way. In the end, Potter appeared victorious, because Black shut his mouth, pressing it into a thin line, and he looked away. ‘We got you a present,’ Potter continued, as if nothing had happened, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a neatly wrapped, bronze-and-blue package. Remus took it from him, looking down at it in surprise. A heartbeat later, he realised that he hadn’t thought to get them anything.

‘I –’ he began.

As if reading his thoughts, Black rolled his eyes. ‘Just open it, Lupin,’ he interrupted, making a gesture with his hand that was obviously meant to hurry him along. Remus did as he was told, gently prying the bow loose, and putting it neatly down next to him. Then, he carefully began to lift up the wrapping paper from where it was stuck down with Spellotape, ignoring Black’s sarcastic, ‘No rush, we’ve got all day.’

The striped wrapping paper fell away to reveal a beautiful, black leather-bound book, which, when Remus frowned and opened it, turned out to be a diary, with dates ranging from the first of January all the way until December of the following year. The pages were thick, the paper smooth and creamy, and when he turned it over, he found gold embossed letters in the very bottom left corner, which spelled out “RL”. His throat felt dry.

‘We noticed you kept drawing up calendars on spare pieces of parchment,’ Potter said. ‘This seemed more practical.’

‘Thank you,’ Remus whispered, not quite meeting their eyes.

Black grinned at him, readjusting his position so that his back was leaned against the slatted, raised foot of the bed, and his feet were near Remus’s hands. ‘It’s from Pete as well. So,’ he began, and Remus looked at him, not knowing what was coming next, ‘aside from the fact you smashed your face into a tree, how was your Christmas?’

* * *

The sky outside was just beginning to lighten, shades of blue fading into startling hues of purple and pink, and it was only then that Remus, who had felt sleep tug at him for a while now, realised how late it had become. A glance at his alarm clock revealed that it was just about eight in the morning.

Potter followed his gaze, and caught Black’s eye, gesturing his head towards the window. ‘We should be off,’ he told Remus, through an enormous stretch. ‘It’s getting late and Mum said not to hassle you too much. She’ll be up in a few, I expect,’ he added, sounding a lot brighter, sitting up straight with a magnetic grin.

Remus peered at him sleepily, unable to follow where that sentence was supposed to go, and was grateful when Black noticed this and clarified, ‘The Potters always host a massive dinner party for New Year’s. Mrs Potter is in the kitchen with the house elves until New Year’s Eve, practically.’

‘That sounds amazing,’ Remus said wistfully, suppressing a yawn.

‘You could always come,’ Potter offered hospitably, stretching his arms above his head, and wincing when his back gave a horrible crick. ‘Mum won’t mind.’

Remus, distracted by the yawn that overtook him, which he artfully covered with his palm, didn’t hear him. ‘Sorry?’ he asked around another yawn, rubbing sleepily at his good eye with his fist.

‘You’re welcome to join us for New Year’s,’ Black repeated. He didn’t look half as sleepy as the two of them, and he was sitting calmly with his back still against the foot of the bed. He tilted his head forward slightly and scrubbed a hand through his shoulder-length hair, adjusting it so that part of it was combed backwards, and part of it fell, messily, to the side of his head. He appeared to be growing it out.

‘Oh,’ Remus said, surprised. ‘I don’t – I’d have to check with my parents.’

‘Sure,’ said Potter, getting up off the bed, and walking towards the window. ‘Just let us know before New Year’s, all right?’

‘I will,’ Remus replied, with a small smile.

Black returned his smile, and pulled himself up from off the bed as well, his movements startlingly fluid. Potter, meanwhile, had clambered up onto the desk, and was fiddling with the fastening of Remus’s window, and Black made to join him. On his way there, however, he seemed to notice all of the books that had been shoved to the floor when they came in, and he turned round. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Remus, who had now gotten out of bed as well. He was, thankfully, wearing both his button-down and a set of pyjama bottoms, which effectively covered the bite-wound on his thigh. He drew in a breath, and slowly made his way over to the desk, suppressing a grimace as the now-familiar pain shot down his leg. He noticed Black was watching his movements carefully, and he raised his eyebrows in question.

‘Fetching pyjamas,’ Black commented, as if that was what he was thinking, and then he leaned forward and began to gather the numerous books that were spread out over Remus’s chair and the carpet.

‘No, don’t –’ Remus attempted, alarmed. ‘– don’t. I can pick those up.’

Black gave him a funny look, but otherwise ignored him, gathering all of the books in his arms and even reaching under the desk to retrieve a quill Remus hadn’t even realised he was missing. He got up, and put all of the things onto Remus’s chair, so that they wouldn’t be in the way when the two of them would be climbing out of the window.  

‘Thank you,’ Remus murmured.

Potter had managed to open the window, and pushed it open with a triumphant breath. A bitter wind blew into the room, and Remus shivered when it bit through his thin pyjamas, rubbing his hands over his arms.

Potter gave him an apologetic look. ‘See you around, Remus,’ he said, using Remus’s name for the first time. ‘Hopefully we’ll see you for the party.’ He leaned out, and positioned himself so that he was able to climb back down.

‘Thanks,’ Remus said, and meant it, possibly more than he could imagine. ‘Happy holidays,’ and, after a pause, he added, ‘James.’

Potter grinned, saluted, and slid down the leaden drain pipe, letting go just before the end, and landing with an audible thump on his haunches in the garden.

Black silently clambered up to the desk, and then hoisted himself out of the window, lowering his body onto the pipe with a caution Remus hadn’t expected to see from him. ‘How did you know where I live?’ Remus asked him, softly.

Black, who had been focused on steadying his grip, whipped his head up, and grinned. ‘Ah, that would be telling,’ he said, with a roguish wink, and followed James down before Remus could say anything in response. Remus stepped closer to the desk and leaned over it, sticking his head out of the window to follow his progress, and just caught Black landing on his feet. He slung his arm around Potter’s shoulder and together, they followed the slightly overgrown stone path past the shed, and headed towards the very back of the garden. Remus watched the two of them climb over the stone wall, and waited until he could no longer see their silhouettes against the early morning sun.  

* * *

When he came down for breakfast, an hour or so later, he found his father, who would usually already be at work by now, sitting at the breakfast table, reading the _Daily Prophet_. His mother was stood by the stove, and offered to make Remus eggs with soldiers, which he accepted. Seemingly by tacit agreement, none of them mentioned the argument from the previous day, as Remus tucked into his breakfast.

A little while later, his father stood up, and wiped the crumbs off his robe. ‘Remus,’ he said quietly, and Remus looked up, his mouth full. ‘Did you need me to look at your eye?’

Surprised, Remus nodded, and dutifully stood while his father pulled his wand out. His father tugged him, by his sleeve, over to the ceiling light in the middle of the room, and tilted his head back, tracing his wand over the wound. ‘I can’t fix it entirely, but I can take down the swelling,’ his father said, and murmured a healing charm. The magic from his wand flowed free and sunk into Remus’s skin, who felt the heaviness of the swelling disappear.

‘Thanks,’ Remus said, after swallowing.

His father gave him a look, and was about to say something – offer him an apology, maybe – but then there was a tap at the kitchen window. His mother, who had been just about to slide two new eggs into a pan of boiling water on a spoon, dropped all three in in shock, and stepped back from the stove as the water splashed upwards. In a far more controlled movement, Remus’s father stepped over to the window and opened it, letting in a handsome barn owl, which dutifully dropped a letter onto the breakfast table, and then flew out the way it came.

Remus’s father shut the window again, and headed over to the table, grabbing the letter. He slit it open the side with his wand, and unfolded the white, fancy parchment, his eyes glancing over the words. After a while, he looked up, and maybe Remus imagined it, but he seemed to have grown a little paler.

Remus’s mother, meanwhile, had returned to the stove, and was attempting to fish the smaller, silver spoon out of the pan with a larger, slotted spoon.

‘We’ve been invited to the Potters’ annual New Year’s party,’ Remus’s father said weakly.

There was a splash, and then Remus’s mother looked up, her hand free of spoons, shock written clearly into her features. ‘We what?’ she demanded.

Remus calmly returned to the breakfast table, sat down, and dunked one of his soldiers into his yolk. His father gave him a look that seemed to say that he knew exactly what Remus had to do with this, but he said nothing, instead looking at his wife.  

‘We have to go,’ he said, sounding pained. ‘We sent the Potter boy home yesterday when he was at the door and – and Mother’s really close to them.’

‘But we hardly know them,’ his mother said, her voice high and slightly squeaky.

Lyall Lupin looked at his son, rather pointedly. ‘Guess that doesn’t matter.’

* * *

Thus, on the very last day of the year, Remus and his parents made their way up the gravelled path of a large farmhouse somewhere in Gloucestershire. The three of them stood under the roofed porch, and then his father rang the bell, looking nervous in his best robes. The door was opened not a breath later by Fleamont Potter, who was wearing a gold paper crown on top of his head, and somehow managed to look festive, instead of ridiculous.

‘Ah, the Lupins!’ he greeted. ‘Good to have you. Come in, come in,’ he said, stepping aside and making a sweeping, downward motion with his hand.

The three of them stepped through into a hallway that was low-ceilinged and white-washed, making the wooden structure of beams on the ceiling stand out. It was lit up, majestically, by strings and strings of fairy lights, and Remus would swear, later on, that one of the fairies by the staircase giggled and winked at him as they stepped into the parlour. The room was modestly sized, but filled with people, most of whom were gathered around the fireplace, drinking from expensive glasses, and dressed in the fanciest robes Remus had ever seen.

‘The Lupins!’ declared Mr Potter, to no one in particular, but yet everyone in the room looked around and smiled; some even raised their glasses in greeting. It made Remus feel suddenly, self-conscious, and he nervously rubbed the cut in his eyebrow, which had only just begun to heal, and was still slightly itchy. ‘Drinks?’ Mr Potter asked them, rubbing his hands together.

Outfitted with drinks, they had found three free seats next to the grand piano when Euphemia Potter appeared in the doorway. She clapped her hands to make herself heard over the soft chamber music that was playing from the charmed radio in the corner. ‘Hello!’ she announced, genially, once she had everyone’s attention. ‘Welcome everyone. Dinner is served, if you would follow me through.’

She gestured behind her and Remus and his parents followed the crowd of people into an amazing dining room, which had been spelled to expand in width, flowing neatly into the garden. Remus was seated, much to his relief, next to James, who was nowhere to be seen and, to his left, next to Sirius Black, who was also missing. His parents had been, thoughtfully, placed in-between one of dad’s colleagues from the Ministry, Septimus Weasley, and his wife, Cedrella, whom Remus knew only vaguely. However, his father seemed pleased, and even his mum was smiling.  

By the time the penultimate course, a shoulder steak in a pesto sauce, had disappeared, Black and Potter were still missing, and Remus shot a nervous glance at Mrs Potter. He found her smiling, and she rolled her eyes upstairs, before returning to the conversation with the man sitting next to her, her emerald earrings sparkling. Remus put his knife and fork away, and excused himself, pushing past chairs until he was out of the room. He closed the door behind him and the dinner chatter faded abruptly, as if he had performed a Silencing Charm, and he found himself in an empty hallway.

With some effort, he made his way up the stairs, the bite-wound on his thigh stinging painfully with every step he took until he reached the landing. He pulled at the sleeves of his robes, and looked around the first floor, which seemed to consist of more than nine rooms. There was always a sort of nervousness that came with being in other people’s homes, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to start snooping. Thankfully, at that moment, he heard voices coming from one of the rooms closest to him, and he knocked on the door, stood back, and waited.

The conversation stopped, and he heard footsteps approach the door, before it opened. ‘Lupin!’ said Potter happily. ‘Took you long enough.’ He swung the door open further and, oddly, the first thing Remus noticed about what was obviously his bedroom was Black, who was sitting on a temporary bed with his knees drawn up, a cigarette hanging, limply, between the fingers of his left hand. His hair was messy, falling in his face, but he, like Mr Potter, was sporting a gold crown. Black winked at him, and Remus, a bit awkwardly, broke eye-contact, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

‘I take it you don’t actually attend the party?’ he asked, although he suspected he knew the answer.

James dove onto the enormous four-poster bed in the middle of the room, and then rolled over onto his back, glancing at Remus with an incredulous look. ‘A five-course dinner with old and boring people?’ he said. ‘No. We usually make ourselves scarce and wait until they start setting off the fireworks.’

‘Or until they play Sardines,’ said Black, and something in his voice was different, because it was deeper and slightly hoarse. ‘That’s always fun.’

‘You only say that because you always win,’ Potter said. Without looking, he felt around the bed until he found the glittering orb that was lying down by his side. He threw it up into the air, and caught it deftly with one hand when it fell back down.

‘You’re just jealous because you’re fucking shit at it,’ said Black, matter-of-factly.

Wisely, Remus said nothing, and looked around for a place to sit. Black gave him a weird look, and scooted to the side, making room for him on the fold-up bed. Remus headed over, and gently lowered himself onto the sheets, gritting his teeth in an attempt to ignore the sharp jolt of pain that his bite-mark sent, resentfully, down his leg at the movement. He readjusted, slightly, until he was sitting with his back against Potter’s wooden desk.

When he looked up, he found that Black was watching him, cigarette clenched between his teeth. Without taking his eyes off Remus, Black took a deliberate, deep drag of the cigarette and breathed out a cloud of smoke through his nose, before pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it out to Remus. With a shake of his head, Remus refused, and instead looked to the bed, where Potter was still tossing the glass ball up in the air, alternating between catching it with his left hand and his right hand when it fell back down.

There was a moment of silence.

‘It’s almost time for dessert,’ Remus offered, and wished he could take the words back as soon as he’d said them.

Black snorted, but said nothing.

‘Something with fruit?’ Potter guessed.

‘Raspberry and vanilla bavarois,’ Remus replied.

‘Raspberry and vanilla bavarois,’ repeated Black, with sarcastic awe. ‘Imagine we’d’ve missed that, Jim. Life would’ve never been the same.’

Remus was spared a reply when Mrs Potter’s sing-song shout of ‘It’s time for Sardines!’ echoed through the house, her voice magically enhanced to reach every corner. Remus blinked, surprised. He figured that the dessert portion of the evening would’ve, at least, taken a little bit more time, but evidently, it hadn’t.

Black was up like a shot. ‘Brilliant,’ he said, banishing the cigarette with a wave of his wand, and then he was out of the door before Remus had as much as blinked.

Potter threw the orb, which Remus only now realised must be the Remembrall he had read about in the _Daily Prophet_ the other day, carelessly into a corner of the room. Then, he rolled over onto his stomach, and grinned. ‘Ever played?’

Remus shook his head.

‘You’ll like it. There’s a prize if you win,’ said Potter, a competitive gleam in his eye, and together, they walked out of the room, down the stairs, and into the parlour, where everyone had gathered. Remus’s father gave him an exasperated look, having apparently noticed him sneaking off during dinner, but Remus pretended not to see, and stood between Potter and Black, shoulders pressed together.

‘Now that we’re all here,’ Mr Potter said, looking around the room. ‘Sardines is quite a simple game. One person is selected to hide and the rest of us go search for them. If you find him or her, you hide in the same spot. If someone else finds you, they also hide in that spot, and so on and so forth. You will lose the game if you are the last person to find everyone. But, more interestingly,’ he paused, his eyes dancing, ‘you win the game if you’ve found a hiding place where no one thinks to look for you. Young Sirius Black here is our reigning champion.’

Black, for the first time since Remus had known him, beamed.                      

‘I shall act as arbiter,’ said Mrs Potter, with a small smile, handing out small, lion-shaped badges for them to take. ‘These badges will track your movements and help decide the winner. Please pin them on your robes. And if you are, in any way, shape or form, hurt, distressed or maybe simply bored –’ some people laughed, and she gave a charming grin, which Remus realised was exactly like James’s – ‘you can return to the parlour any time you wish and hand me your badge. You will automatically forfeit and I will automatically hand you the drink that is no more than your due.’ More laughter. ‘The game is over when everyone is found or if the clock hits twenty minutes to midnight, which gives everyone enough time to gather back here for the fireworks and the prizes. Any questions?’

There were no questions. Remus pinned the badge onto his chest and watched, slightly mesmerised, as the lion lit up with a green hue. Mrs Potter waited patiently until everyone had put on their badges, and then took out her wand. ‘Ready?’ she beamed. ‘Three, two, one, off you go!’ Her wand let out an enormous bang, and the room was filled with laughter and confusion as people ran in different directions.

Just before Remus left the room, he caught the eye of Mrs Potter, who had sunk down into a chair by the fire, drink in hand. She held up her glass in cheers, and Remus grinned back, heading out into the hallway.

* * *

In the end, he decided to go outside, and followed sets of unfamiliar and partial footsteps through the gravel. The sound of the gravel nagged at his ears, scratchy and loud, but it matter little, and he was still grinning by the time he skidded into the garden. He looked around. There was a low building to the left of him, with white-painted French doors, some of which stood open, curtains billowing in the sharp winter breeze. Two of the rooms still had the lights on, and Remus could see trunks and bags stood by beds, which would make these the guest quarters.

He could already see swishes of robes and silhouettes gathered inside, so he, instead, took a left, and ventured deeper into the garden, the gravel crunching faithfully beneath his feet. There were buildings upon buildings that filled the grounds and, what felt like hours later, Remus’s eye fell, oddly, upon what was arguably the smallest one, a stone cottage made of a darker brown brick. He snuck towards the front door, as quietly as he could, and tried it. It gave way immediately, and opened noiselessly into a cosy living room.

Remus pressed the door shut, and let himself in. For a few seconds, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then looked around. The living room was small and sparsely decorated, sporting only a cream-coloured sofa and a sitting chair next to an empty fireplace. In front of him was a small, rickety staircase, which led into a landing which appeared to only have two doors, both easily visible from where he was stood.

He ran his hand over the mantle above the fireplace, which was empty save for two giant silver candlesticks, and peered into the kitchen, which consisted of an Aga, wooden countertops, and a deep, porcelain sink. The door in the kitchen led into what Remus presumed to be the scullery and when he glanced out of the small window inside, he could see a part of the garden. The only light in the cottage was coming from the badge on Remus’s chest, which emitted, with every beat of his heart, a soft green light.

Eventually, Remus decided that the best place to hide would be in the upstairs bedroom. Silently cursing the sheer amount of staircases the Potter farmhouse insisted on having, he made his way upstairs, and found that, despite what he had previously thought, there were more than just two rooms. Hesitating for only a second, he pushed down the handle of the door closest to him, and almost missed the sharp intake of breath when the door fell open.

There was a moment of quiet, during which Remus deliberated getting his wand out and checking to see if he had imagined it, but then his badge lit up, changing to blue, and the curtain at the far end of the room, which hid a magnificent ceiling-to-floor window from sight, was pushed back.

Remus made his way to the window sill, which was barely wide enough to fit two people, and clambered onto it with some effort. The badge on the robes of the person sitting next to him flared into life, too, and then it glowed upwards, bathing the face of Sirius Black in blue light.

‘Figures you would be the one to ruin my streak,’ Black said, resentfully, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, but was this chapter was a beast to write. It has stood open on my computer for the last five days and went through as many different versions, including, memorably, one wherein Remus didn’t even attend the party, which is slightly blasphemous, if you think about it too long. 
> 
> Thankfully, even though this chapter has now firmly steered this story into a course which is entirely different from the one I had so far planned, I do like it - and I hope you do, too.
> 
> For those who would be curious to know, the Potter farmhouse is based on a real-life Gloucestershire home called _Ampney Knowle_ , which is easily one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen, although I did take some liberties.
> 
> I wish to close by saying that all of your lovely comments and messages make me feel so appreciated and loved, so thank you so much for taking the time to reach out. You’re the best!   


	14. Chapter 13 - to avow

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 13: _to avow_

‘Sorry,’ Remus apologised, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if to better suit the slightly eerie silence that reigned in the cottage. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them, looking at Black, who had been leaning against the frame of the window, and was peering down at him, the badge on his chest blinking flashes of blue light across his face. ‘I honestly didn’t think anyone would be here.’

Black looked at him and then shrugged one shoulder upwards nonchalantly, leaning his head back against the frame and looking up, gaze resting upon the flash of surprisingly ornate ceiling that was visible, just above them. ‘There wasn’t the last four times we played this. People normally go as far as the guest quarters and then give up,’ he said, heaving a big sigh.

Remus considered this for a brief moment and then looked back at Black with a questioning look on his face. ‘Doesn’t it get lonely?’ he asked. Of all people, Remus would’ve expected Black to be the one to least love being part of this silence, sitting, all alone, for hours, waiting until the search ended. If anything, Black seemed to be made up of loudness, which emanated from his body even now, revealing itself in way his leg was jiggling up and down and the messy way he kept readjusting his hair.

Black snorted. ‘You mean, why am I not hiding with James in the chicken coop?’ he asked. Having worked on farms every summer since he was a teenager, Remus could clearly imagine the experience, and he pulled a face. Black barked out a laugh. ‘Exactly. I’d rather sit up here by myself, thanks. Besides,’ he added, ‘if you win, Euphy allows you to eat her _excellent_ chocolate cake, which she only makes on New Year’s, all by yourself. Totally worth it.’

‘Right,’ said Remus, a bit absently. The pain in his thigh was getting uncomfortable in this position, so he gingerly lowered his legs, allowing them to rest upon the floor. The soft fabric of the curtain fell back against his feet, swishing gently back and forth in an inaudible breeze, which was coming in from somewhere in the house. He leaned back so that his back was against the glass, and then he glanced down at his watch. ‘Three hours to go.’

Black tilted his face back down, looking at Remus. The badge chose that exact moment to light up, dimly, making his face seem, for a moment, otherworldly, and Remus couldn’t quite make out the expression on it. ‘Feeling better, then?’

Remus reached for the scar that ran through his eyebrow before realising what he had done, and gently lowered it again, flexing his fingers before putting them, splayed wide, upon his knee. ‘Yes. It didn’t hurt that much,’ he admitted. 

‘You’re a terrible liar,’ Black said, sounding amused at the fact. He leaned forward and scrubbed a hand through his hair, readjusting it the same way he’d done when he had been sitting on Remus’s bed a few days ago. Remus wondered if it was a new habit of his.

Wisely, however, he chose not to respond to Black’s comment, and instead, gaze following Black’s fingers, he mindlessly said, ‘it’s quite long, your hair.’

‘Don’t you start,’ said Black, looking up at him while he readjusted his fringe. ‘I get enough of that from McGonagall. She tells me to cut it all off at least once a week because it’s supposedly unsightly. As I keep telling her, it’s going to be the same length as Margois Benée’s and there’s nothing she can do about that.’

Remus had no idea who that was. ‘Who?’

Black stared at him. ‘Margois Benée. The Snakes,’ he prompted, looking at Remus as if he was being stupid on purpose. ‘The band?’ he said, finally, his voice taking on a slight edge. When Remus only shrugged, Black blew out an impatient breath. ‘Unbelievable. They’re only the best thing to happen to wizarding music since The Hobgoblins.’

‘I don’t –’ Remus began.

‘If you finish that sentence with “listen to wizarding music”, I’m not sure we can still be friends,’ Black interrupted.

‘– know who The Hobgoblins are,’ Remus finished, as he had originally intended.

Black made a long and unattractive sound in the back of his throat, which sounded, at best, like a snort gone wrong. ‘Sometimes, I genuinely believe you’re about five-hundred years old –’ he said. 

‘Shut up,’ Remus told him.

Black levelled him with a look. Remus obediently, although slightly reluctantly, fell quiet. ‘As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, all of my records are here. They’re somewhere in Jim’s room. I mean, I put them in his sock drawer last time I was here and told him to guard them with his life, so they better still be there. His dad’s got a record player down in his office.’ Then, a bit more quietly, he added, ‘we could listen to them sometime, if y’want?’

‘Oh,’ responded Remus, surprised at the way this had gone. ‘Y-yeah, sure.’

Black cleared his throat. ‘Cool.’ He looked back at Remus, then casually drew up one knee, leaning his elbow on it, and putting his face in his chin. ‘I’d love to be in a band,’ he said softly.

Remus scrunched up his face in disbelief, but the look on Black’s face was wistful, gazing off into the garden, so he carefully ironed out his expression before Black could catch it. ‘What would you play?’

‘Guitar,’ Black replied, without hesitation, fingers tracing absent, unseen patterns upon the glass. ‘I got myself one for Christmas and taught myself to play – four years ago now? No, five. Yeah, five,’ he decided.

‘Wow,’ said Remus, trying not to make it sound as impressed as he felt.

Black turned his face back towards him. ‘It’s not that hard,’ he said, but his voice carried a note of arrogance in it, as it sometimes did.

Remus raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you even remotely aware of the fact that you can sound like a complete prat?’

Black gave him a magnificently charming grin. ‘What do you even know about music?’ he teased.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek. When he was three years old, his mother had started him on piano lessons because, or so she’d later told him, he’d been begging her to let him play, like she could, for years. Remus only vaguely remembered playing, but he remembered loving it, dearly. The lessons had come to an abrupt, screeching halt two years later, when he was bitten. They moved out of Chepstow quite quickly after, and his mother had sold the piano she had inherited from her grandmother, alongside all of her scores, back to the store, so that they could pay the exorbitant fees St Mungo’s had charged them for Remus’s treatment. The store had given her back only forty per cent of what everything was worth, and it remained a sore point for both of his parents, who had never brought it up around him again.

Guiltily, Remus had forced himself to keep quiet about it, and if he spent some time remembering the flawless rows of ebony and ivory keys, the dusty wooden slats and the creaky left foot pedal, he never told anyone. Once, during a holiday, he had found an old, handwritten score of the Moonlight Sonata, but had quickly put it back on the shelf when his mother had rounded the corner. That afternoon, with his parents otherwise occupied, he had gone back for it, but it had already been sold.

He closed his eyes. ‘Beethoven, Hayden, Mozart, Schubert,’ he recited from memory, seeing, in his mind’s eye, his old piano teacher, Mrs Merrick, standing in front of him. The black-and-white striped dress she always wore billowed in the summer breeze floating into the room of the ballet class, and he could smell her perfume, heady and lingering, but her face remained blurry, and when he opened his eyes, the memory faded, and she was gone.

‘You went off there, for a bit,’ Black said.

‘Sorry,’ Remus apologised, shaking his head. The motion brought him, firmly, back to the present.

Black smiled kindly at him. ‘Impressive, though. Das Wiener Klassik,’ he added, his pronunciation flawless.  

Remus stared. ‘How many languages do you even speak?’

Black shrugged vaguely, then looked out into the garden again, tracing his fingers over the panes, up and further, until his arm could stretch no more. By the time he finally responded, Remus had all but forgotten about the question. ‘Five,’ Black said, his voice light. He dropped his hand onto his elbow and rubbed, absently, over the skin.

Remus wasn’t really sure what Black expected him to say to that, exactly, so he just hummed in the back of his throat and then fell quiet. Black’s reply gave rise to a myriad of complicated feelings in him, overlapping and muddling together, so that, in the end, only a few were recognisable to him. There was admiration there but, in the very pit of his stomach, there was also, ugly and dark and twisting, something which could not be anything else other than envy, and Remus blew out a deliberate breath, fighting to regain control over himself.

Just before a full moon would hit, and even for a few days after it had passed, Remus’s emotions would be raw and very close to the surface. Something that would normally merely irritate him, would seem like the most annoying thing in the world around a full moon. And something like envy, which he had been clearly feeling now, would turn into a ruby red jealousy, which tasted coppery-metallic in the back of his throat. He didn’t want to lash out at Black, for no reason at all, so he drew in a breath, trying to collect himself.  

‘I’m boiling,’ Black announced, out of the blue, and before Remus could even comprehend that sentence, Black had found a way to pry open the window, and the cool and sharp wintry air drifted into the room, smelling faintly of what turned out to be apple trees, which were stood in what turned out to be an enormous vegetable garden, planted very close to the cottage. The window swung inward, and Remus pushed the cool glass back to ensure it wasn’t throwing him off the sill. Reluctantly, it stabilised, which might have had something to do with the spell Remus cast, a second later.

Remus shivered from the cold air that was ghosting past his neck, and only then noticed that, again, silence had fallen between them. It made Remus a little nervous; Black had always been the one to fill the silences between them, but when he dared a glance, he found that Black was sitting with his back against the frame of the window, head tilted back towards the ceiling, seemingly at ease in the silence. The badge on his chest glowed blue with every beat of his heart and there was, oddly, a kind of vulnerability about the way he was sat, throat fully exposed and eyes closed, which made Remus nervous.

‘Are you okay?’ he blurted, for want of something to say.

Black’s eyes slowly opened and Remus felt them settle upon his face, luminous and grey. ‘Sorry?’

‘Are – ah, never mind,’ Remus fumbled, and then, after some thinking, settled on, ‘what do you want to do when you leave Hogwarts?’

Black frowned, and then turned his head to look out into the garden, emotions flashing rapidly across his face. ‘Curse-Breaker,’ he said, eventually.

Remus breathed out, lips curving into a smile. ‘I should’ve thought. It suits you,’ he said.

Black was still gazing out into the garden, but Remus could see part of a grin tugging at his lips. ‘Does it?’ he asked.

‘Adventure,’ Remus listed, raising his right hand and tapping each of his fingers in turn, starting with his little finger, and then counting on out towards his thumb. ‘Travel. Challenges. Riddles. Goblins.’

Black laughed, tilting his head so that he was looking at Remus from the corner of his eye, the rest of his face obscured partly by his hair. ‘I’ll admit, it’s specifically because of the last one.’

‘Goblins tend to have that effect on people,’ replied Remus dryly, feeling, somehow, triumphant at having made Black laugh. There was something different about Black tonight, like a kind of solemnity had come over him, which was evidenced by the fact that he looked, again, out towards the garden.

‘They do at that,’ Black responded, tone quite serious. However, he pulled away from the window and then readjusted his position on the sill, so that he was now sat crossed-legged, elbows leaning on his knees. This decreased the distance between them significantly, and Remus scooted a little more towards the side, intent on providing him with more room. It ended with the elaborate hanging window pull digging uncomfortably into his back, but Black had already extended his legs further, so that Remus had no choice but to settle in.

‘All right, my turn. What are you going to do after graduation?’ Black asked him, while Remus suppressed a grimace, and tried to avoid the cool metal of the pull against his skin. He failed, miserably, and curved his back forward, attempting to find a comfortable position despite it. Black blinked, and pulled back his legs slightly. ‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Remus admitted, scooting forward a little, and thankfully feeling the press of the metal pull leave him. He turned around and adjusted it so that it was tucked, safely, between the frame of the window and the wall, and could not bother him anymore. Then he turned to Black, and said, ‘I wanted to be a Healer, but that’s not going to happen.’

Surprise registered clearly across Black’s face. ‘Why not? You’re top of your year, you’re Head Boy, and you practically dragged half of my year through their O.W.L.s.’

Remus offered Black a sardonic smile. ‘I’m not very good at Potions,’ he said, instead, which was true. ‘I only scored an E on my Potions O.W.L., so I tested out of Advanced Potions. Didn’t meet the grade requirements.’

‘Oh,’ said Black emphatically. ‘Shit.’

‘Yeah,’ responded Remus. ‘It’s all right, though. I’ll just apply for a whole host of jobs and see who’s willing to have me.’

‘You’ll find a place in no time,’ Black said, which Remus thought was very kind of him. He offered Remus a grin, and then started patting down his pockets, fishing out a pack of slightly battered-looking cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one up with a lazy flick of his wand.  

‘When did you start smoking?’ Remus asked him.

Black took a drag of his cigarette, swiping his hair out of the way. ‘Fourteen?’ he guessed, when he pulled it back out of his mouth, scrubbing at a spot on his chin with the inside of his thumb, cigarette wobbling, in-between his index and middle finger, dangerously close to the wooden frame of the window. Remus opened his mouth to warn him, but Black then put the cigarette back into his mouth. ‘I think, yeah. Got my first one off my Uncle Alfie. Found him on the terrace at this ridiculous dinner party my parents were hosting,’ Black said, smiling at the memory. ‘He gave me one and told me that he’d rather I smoke it in front of him than try and sneak a cigarette into the house.’

‘Very responsible,’ Remus said.

Black grinned, blowing out a thin gust of smoke. ‘I know. He’s brilliant.’ He leaned his head sideways, against the frame of the window. ‘One of the only decent Blacks, really. Don’t see him a lot, though, he lives up north.’

‘Scotland?’ Remus guessed.

Black snorted. ‘Not _that_ far north. Manchester,’ he said.

‘I’ve got relatives there,’ Remus replied, thoughtlessly.

‘Muggle ones?’ Black asked, voice suddenly quite curious.

Remus looked at him, then nodded. ‘Yeah, we see them every year at Christmas. My mum’s sister lives there with her husband and their nine children.’

Black spluttered around his cigarette, and had to thump himself on the chest with his fist a couple of times to stop his coughing. ‘ _Nine_ children? You’re having me on.’

‘They’re very religious,’ Remus shrugged.

‘Nine children.’ Black shook his head, having obviously not heard Remus’s response. He looked terrified. ‘Nine bloody children. Merlin. Imagine how expensive that would be.’ He had seemingly forgotten about his cigarette, which was almost falling out of his fingers.

Remus raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s what you’re thinking about?’

Black looked at him, eyes wide. ‘What else is there to think about?’ he demanded.

‘It’s fun?’ Remus proposed. ‘You’re never on your own. There’s always someone to play with, someone to help you with your homework, someone to do the chores when you don’t feel like it. It’s great.’

‘You’re an only child,’ Black surmised. He seemed to have found his cigarette again, and put it back in his mouth, fingers pressed against his lips.

Remus looked at him from under his eyelashes. ‘So?’

‘Only someone who’s an only child would glorify having siblings,’ Black said. ‘Trust me, it’s nothing to write home about.’

Remus frowned. He racked his brain, sifting through countless of students at Hogwarts, and suddenly, a fifth year Slytherin Prefect sprung to mind. He had only been appointed this year, but his surname had been Black, and it was only now that Remus, stupidly, made the connection between the two. The younger Black was much quieter than this one, with a face that was less defined but no less regal, eyes very, very light blue, almost grey. He was always very polite and, during Prefect meetings, he sat in-between Isa Shafiq and Walden Macnair. His name was – ‘Regulus,’ Remus said.

Black looked straight at him, expression unreadable.

‘He’s – he’s a Prefect,’ Remus said quickly, and vaguely wondered why that came out of his mouth sounding like an apology. ‘Slytherin. Kind of – kind of quiet,’ he finished, lamely.

The look on Black’s face was murderous. He pressed out his cigarette against the window frame, and flicked it, over Remus’s shoulder, out of the window. ‘Can we not talk about him?’ he sneered.

‘Sorry,’ Remus mumbled, chastised, looking down at his knees.

‘For fuck’s sake, stop apologising for everything,’ Black said, louder than necessary, his tone impatiently sharp around the edges. His voice filled the room and seemed to boom back from the walls, making Remus draw his shoulders tighter towards himself without meaning to. Although he tended to win them, he didn’t like fights; and he didn’t want to fight with Sirius. He chanced a glance upward but saw only that Black’s brow was lined with tension, so he shifted his gaze, and looked at the curtain in front of him, instead.

‘Not my favourite topic,’ Black sighed, running a hand through his hair, and readjusting it, again. ‘Sorry.’

‘’s all right,’ Remus told the curtain.

* * *

Roughly two hours later, wintry darkness had plumed all around them, obscuring even the nearby vegetable patch from view. As they had always done, Remus’s eyes had completely adjusted to the shadowy perception and he could see Black sitting across from him as clear as day. The window had since been closed, as Remus had reluctantly admitted to having turned into an icicle about an hour into their game, and Black had smoked through four more cigarettes, which were lying, some still quietly smouldering, in the ashtray Remus had conjured to prevent Black from tossing them out of the window.

Remus had learned a lot about Black in those two hours. He had learned that Black’s favourite subject was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and that his least favourite subject was, of all things, Herbology. It also became quite clear that Black wasn’t too fond of his family. He did seem to like his Uncle Alfie – which turned out to short for Alphard Black, the famous potioneer, who owned half of the Blackerish & Darvill Potions Shop in Diagon Alley – and his cousin Andromeda, who had just gotten married, and whom Remus remembered had been three years above him. Finally, after procuring Remus’s express assurance that he wouldn’t tell James before he had a chance to, Black told him that he was going to be signing his name on the lease of a handsome apartment near his uncle’s place, in London, on the day they were due to be back at Hogwarts.  

For his part, Black asked Remus a whole host of questions, none of which seemed to be related to each other. He asked Remus if he could recite the names of all of his nieces and nephews backwards (he could); what his favourite Fortescue Ice Cream flavour was (stracciatella); if he had ever considered hexing anyone just for the hell of it (Remus very reluctantly admitted that Rodgers had come close); and if he would, given the chance, ride a flying motorbike (he would, because he’d want to know how it flew). When, finally, Black asked him to share a secret he’d never shared with anyone, Remus hesitated for a moment, and then told him that he’d been a hatstall, because the Sorting Hat had wanted him to be in Gryffindor.

Black had thrown him an incredulous look at that, and had muttered something under his breath that Remus had pretended not to hear, but had made him smile.

Presently, Black was sitting back on his haunches, in a position he claimed was very comfortable, thanks very much, and asked, out loud, ‘First kiss?’

‘Are we twelve now?’ Remus replied, voice hoarse around the edges for reasons he couldn’t really describe.

In response, Black only grinned at him, grey eyes gleaming in the moonlight that filtered through the window, lighting up the sill.

Remus blew out a long breath through his mouth. ‘Second year, Valentine’s Day, and that’s all I’m going to say.’

Black’s brow tightened in a frown, for a moment, but then, surprising Remus, he let out a laugh. ‘Ah, right, I’d forgotten about that. Your table got our Love Potion.’

‘What?’ Remus demanded.  

‘Well,’ Black announced. ‘Back when we were ickle, innocent little firsties – and this was Jim’s idea, by the way, not mine – there may have been a time where we smuggled a batch of really strong Love Potion into the school to use on the girl James fancies.’

‘Lily Evans?’ Remus guessed, although he already knew the answer.

‘Figured that one out, did you?’ Black asked, pretending to be very impressed.

Remus made a gesture for him to go on.

Black grinned. ‘For Evans, and we got the batch of potion down to the kitchens and I convinced the house-elves that it was this new and amazingly tasting orange juice, so if they would just be so kind as to swap it with the one they’d already made fresh, Dumbledore’s orders, etcetera etcetera.’

‘Very convincing,’ Remus said.

‘We thought so, too,’ Black replied, amused. ‘But apparently Head Kitchen Elf Blippy didn’t really think so. She only swapped the orange juice for one table, and unfortunately, it was the Ravenclaw one.’

Remus was quiet for a moment. ‘I hate you,’ he deadpanned.

Black laughed. ‘So, who was it?’

‘I’m not telling you.’

‘Go on,’ Black said, nudging Remus with his shoulder. ‘Share with the class.’

‘Who was yours?’ Remus countered.

‘Clara Johnson, during the New Year’s Eve party during our first year,’ Black said, without batting an eyelash. ‘She took me to the Prefects bathroom, let me feel her tits, and it was the absolute highlight of my year. Now answer the question.’

‘No,’ said Remus.

‘Tell me,’ Black insisted, leaning closer.

With Black’s face so close to his own, Remus absently noticed some things he had overlooked, before. There was a smattering of freckles, just on each side of Black’s nose, and his eyes were actually, if you looked at them quite carefully, not only just grey. One of them was broken up, just at the bottom, by smatterings of an icy blue, and even a shard of light green. For a moment, just a split-second, Remus wondered if –

There was an enormous bang, almost like a canon going off. It seemed to come from the main house, and Remus’s involuntary jump at the sound made a fiery twinge of pain shoot down his thigh. His sharp hiss was, thankfully, unnoticeable under the enhanced, sing-song voice of Mrs Potter, which called out, ‘Attention all guests! It is now thirty minutes to midnight and the game is over. Please come meet us in the parlour where we will declare a winner and hand out our grand prize!’

Black gave a magnificent grin. ‘Let’s go then,’ he said, jumping off the sill effortlessly. ‘We might still win if we’re the smallest group.’

‘Unless someone joined James in the chicken coop,’ Remus pointed out, gingerly lowering himself onto the floor, and stretching out his stiff legs. Black seemed to suffer from no such fatigue, and was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, impatiently waiting for him to finish.

‘Come on, come on,’ he urged.

‘All right,’ Remus said, a bit impatiently, and then pushed aside the curtain, so that the moonlight could flood into the bedroom. Black seemed to have had enough, however, and took Remus by the arm, effortlessly steering him out of the room, across the landing, down the stairs, and out of the cottage before Remus could rightly process how fast they were going.

‘Slow down,’ he said, but he was smiling, because Black was obviously in very good spirits, which was a far cry from the sullen mood he’d been in when Remus had first found him in the cottage. In no time at all, by fumbling through gaps in hedges and pushing through several of which Remus was sure were prized hydrangea bushes, they reached the main house, and when Black pulled them into the living room, they were, to no one’s surprise, the second ones there.

Remus’s father and mother were stood together by the fireplace, both nursing a drink, and had abandoned the game five minutes in after colliding against each other in the bathroom. Mr Potter had bravely attempted to hide in one of the kitchen cupboards, but had been discovered by the house-elves, and had been sent to sit by his wife while the elves finished preparing the mini chocolate tarts they would be sending out with the champagne just before midnight.

James had chosen not to hide in the chicken coop this year, but had been in the stables, where he’d been joined by Septimus Weasley, his wife Cedrella, and three other people Remus had forgotten the names of. James’s hair was messy and there was hay stuck in it, but when Black lowered his voice and asked him how that got there, he turned bright red and refused to talk about it.

Finally, after waiting for ten minutes, the last couple entered the room, holding hands, and it was then Mrs Potter called for their attention.

‘You’re all getting old,’ she announced, with a smile. ‘That took forever. So champagne, chocolate and New Year’s wishes first, winners later!’

Remus thought it was only fair to join Black and James in booing loudly.

* * *

The winner, in the end, was James’s cousin, Marlene McKinnon, whom Remus only vaguely knew. She had hidden herself, cleverly, in the grandfather clock in the hall, and since no one had looked there, she got to eat Mrs Potter’s chocolate cake all by herself. If Black was resentful, he didn’t show it when he congratulated her, but Remus did notice that the cake was missing a suspiciously large chunk after James had gone over and made a big fuss over her.

His suspicions turned out to be correct as, when he had almost reached the bathroom a few minutes later, he was pulled into the abandoned dining room by James. ‘Saved you a piece!’ he said triumphantly, shoving something wet and velvety soft into Remus’s hands. When he looked down, he saw that it was a piece of Mrs Potter’s chocolate cake. It had some sort of custardy chocolate filling in the middle, which was slowly seeping through his fingers, and dripping onto the dining room floor.

‘Er,’ said Remus.

Meanwhile, James had gone to sit on a drawn-out chair, his feet stretched out towards the table. He didn’t respond, but simply pushed his fork into the stolen piece of chocolate cake, which was stood, proudly, upon a cake platter in the middle of the table, and took a bite. A bit desperately, Remus attempted to stop the filling of the cake in his hand from getting everywhere, but had to admit he was fighting a losing battle when the chocolate buttercream layer on the top started to melt, too.

Black, who was sitting on top of the table, seemingly without a care for what he was sitting in, said something, gesturing with his fork at Remus. However, his mouth was really full, and instead of sensible words, out sprayed chocolate flecks, which landed upon someone’s pristinely white napkin, which had been draped on the back of the chair on which Black was resting his feet.

Remus threw him an unamused look. ‘I hope you know you’re sitting in sauce,’ he said, but then he had to laugh at the ridiculous picture they were making. The two of them grinned at him, and James pulled out the chair besides him, producing a fork out of nowhere and gesturing for him to sit down.

Remus nodded, and then looked down at the cake in his hand, which could hardly be deemed to be suitable for transport. It was still leaking chocolate, kind of pointedly, everywhere. Just as Remus had decided that the best way to go about it would be to simply mush the cake into his mouth and be done with it, the door opened, and, in his shock, he dropped the cake onto the floor.

His father was stood in the door opening of the dining room. He looked tired, and weary, but most of all, he looked impatient. ‘Remus,’ he said, voice barely a request. ‘We’re going home.’

‘Right,’ Remus said. ‘Sure.’ He attempted to smile at the other two, but his father’s sudden appearance had made him too nervous to do so. ‘Er, thank you so much for having us.’

Awkwardly, he bowed, as was the custom in pureblood families, and then made his way over to his father, gingerly sidestepping the cake he’d dropped onto the floor, which had really made an incredible mess for such a small piece. His father had stepped aside and was holding open the door for him, and just before he left, Remus glanced back over his shoulder and saw that James had his hand raised in a wave. Black, however, was quiet around a forkful of cake, and Remus could feel his gaze lingering on his neck as he turned around, and stepped into the hallway.

* * *

On the drive back to London, a few days later, it started to drizzle, and by the time his mother dropped him off a block away from King’s Cross Station, it was sheeting down with rain, and she couldn’t get any closer. This meant that when Remus stepped onto the Hogwarts Express fifteen minutes later, his hair was plastered to his face and his clothes were sticking to him oddly. He fished his Hogwarts robes out of his trunk and changed, a bit awkwardly considering the small space, out of his wet clothes, and into the robes, in one of the bathroom stalls at the very back of the train. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, and then pulled out his wand, murmuring a drying charm.

A gust of hot air blew out of his wand and instantly dried his hair, which fell over his eyes. It had grown too long and was getting wavy, as it tended to do when it was longer. He pulled, absently, at a lock of hair that was curling over his ear, and tried to estimate the length he would need to take off. Just then, there was an impatient knock on the door, and Remus gathered his wet clothes, and made his way out of the bathroom. The rest of the train ride was longer than anticipated, if uneventful, and Remus spent it reading, forgetting, entirely, about his haircut.  

But, when term begun, he was constantly reminded of it; in fact, it was turning out to be quite a problem. His longer hair got in the way during a Charms lesson, falling into his eyes, and it ensured he nearly had his fingers bitten off by a Mandrake plant during Herbology, much to Professor Sprout’s annoyance. When Flitwick pulled him aside after class on a week into term, Remus had expected to be told about the status of the article, but was, instead, surprised to hear Flitwick ask him if everything was all right.

‘Y-yes, Professor,’ Remus had stammered. ‘Why?’

Flitwick gave him a gentle smile, and merely told him to take good care of himself. Remus left his office, feeling, oddly, both chastised and completely flabbergasted at the same time. Charms had been his final class of the day, and before he could really think about it, he was heading towards the tower classroom. When he pressed the door of the room shut with his back a few minutes later, he was unsurprised to find the window unlocked.

Gingerly, he lowered himself onto the lower, gracefully landing on his haunches. His thigh gave a slight twinge of protest, but otherwise settled down quite quickly, allowing him to get up, and walk towards the edge of the tower, where Black was stood, smoking. Remus stood next to him, leaning on his arms, gazing out onto the lake.

‘All right?’ he asked.

Black turned and gave him a slow smile. ‘Yeah, all right.’

Wordlessly, he offered Remus a cigarette, and Remus accepted it, lighting it with a flick of his wrist.

‘It’s quite long, your hair,’ Black deadpanned.

‘Shut up,’ Remus said, and then Black laughed, a beautiful, charming thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this is a bit later than usual – the direction of the previous chapter kind of threw a spanner in the works, and I’ve had to rework my entire timeline and structure for this little story.
> 
> For those wondering, Margois Benée is the lead singer of the fictional French band The Snakes, which were borrowed from one of my first stories, Chocolate Biscuits. They would absolutely be Sirius Black’s favourite band, and no one can tell me otherwise.
> 
> I hope you’ll like it ♥


	15. Chapter 14 - to succuss

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 14: _to succuss_

By the time the weekend presented itself, Remus had grown wary of his hair constantly falling into his eyes, and he was stood, therefore, on Saturday morning, in front of the mirror, pulling hopelessly at the more stubborn curls while attempting to point his wand at them at the same time. After forty minutes of fiddling and failed aiming, he gave it up as a bad job, and resolved to spend the last of his money on a haircut at the salon in Hogsmeade for his birthday, which would be coming up in March. This did mean that he would have to live with it a while longer, but he could manage. He always managed.

He stepped out of the bathroom and expertly side-stepped the frustrated Stinging Hex Allard aimed at him as he made his way over to his bed. ‘Lupin, even _I_ haven’t had a wank that long! You were in there absolutely ages,’ Allard complained. He occupied the bed just opposite Remus, and he was easily the loudest of his fellow dorm mates. They shared with two other boys, Danny Thomas and John Clouthier, and the three of them were very close friends. Remus had always, electively, fallen just outside of their group, although they had, over the years, occasionally studied together, or borrowed each other’s notes. Out of the four of them, Thomas had always been the most decent to him, but Allard came a close second; Clouthier preferred to ignore him, which suited Remus just fine.

Remus gathered his books, pressing them to his chest, and slung his book bag over his shoulder. ‘This is the first time I’ve been in the bathroom longer than ten minutes in the last seven years, so you can shut it, Allard,’ he pointed out, a little irritated. Allard frequently spent hours in the bathroom, as he seemed to have a new girlfriend every other week. He also never bothered to lock the door when he was inside, resulting in many unfortunate run-ins by the other three.

Allard, who had been half-way to the bathroom, came to a sudden stop and turned around to face Remus, mouth hanging open slightly. He was holding onto a pair of worn jeans and a sweater, and the heavy scent of the cologne he wore was already following him. Doubtlessly, he was on his way to prepare for yet another date in Hogsmeade, but currently, he seemed to be incapable of producing a reply.

Remus was beginning to grow uncomfortable under Allard’s stare. ‘What?’ he asked, eventually.

Allard snorted out a laugh. ‘Just funny that it took you seven years to develop a backbone, is all, Lupin,’ he said, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

Remus winced as it slammed shut, but didn’t miss the warm smile that Thomas, who had been lying on the bed that was stood next to him, bent over a book, shot him. Remus returned it, and then made his way out of the dormitory, heading towards the Great Hall to get some breakfast before he would settle in, again, for a long day of studying.  

Just as he had descended the staircase towards the third floor, there was a heavy thump behind him, and he looked around. Thomas appeared to have made the leap from the platform to the staircase just as it had begun to shift, and was teeter-tottering dangerously around the third step, trying to regain his balance. Remus quickly reached out a hand, and Thomas took it from him, gratefully, and wobbled only a little bit before finally finding his balance. ‘Ta,’ he said, stressing the vowel in his typical Cockney twang. ‘Kind of overestimated that.’

‘Are you all right?’ Remus asked.

‘Yeah,’ Thomas said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘That was good what you did in the dorm, by the way. Allie needs to be put in his place sometimes.’

‘Thanks,’ Remus replied, with a small smile.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, and had sat down for breakfast at the Ravenclaw table, they were still talking. It was the longest conversation Remus had ever had with Thomas outside of the Transfiguration project they had worked on together during their third year, but it was turning out to be really quite easy, even if Thomas did most of the talking. Currently, Thomas was telling him about yesterday’s Potions lesson, the last half of which Remus had missed, due to having to pull a fourth year student out of class to inform him that his Head of House needed to see him.

‘And I was telling him, look, yeah, there’s no way that you’re going to add in this Boomslang skin, because the whole thing is going to explode, but you know Slytherins, thick as a door, so he chucked it in and the whole thing went up like fireworks. Of course I’m not stupid, so I threw up a shield, but he got soaked in the stuff, and I mean, boils all over him, purple potion dripping on the floor like. And I say to him, should’ve used your ears, innit ya?’

Remus let out a sympathetic laugh.

‘Right?’ Thomas said, biting into a piece of toast. ‘’Course –’

‘Excuse me,’ a very polite voice interrupted, and Remus looked up, surprised, to find Sirius Black standing there, hands pressed to the table, leaning forward. He was wearing a charming smile, which he was aiming at Thomas. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I was wondering if I could borrow Lupin for a moment.’

The difference in their accents, one Remus had never really paid much attention to, was suddenly quite obvious. Thomas’s hailed from East London, Cockney in the way he swallowed his h’s and elongated his vowels, and was homely. By contrast, Black’s accent wasn’t even truly identifiable as a London one, because everything came out in RP, and there was a kind of supremacy ingrained in it, although that was likely due to Black’s upbringing.

There was a moment of silence, during which Thomas gave Black the most unimpressed look Remus had ever seen him wear, while Black’s smile grew only wider; the two of them seemed to be conversing without saying anything. ‘Go on, mate,’ Thomas said, gesturing with his fork, and Remus, for some reason, felt compelled to throw him apologetic look as he followed Black out of the Great Hall.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked, once the loud and slightly creaky doors fell shut behind them.

‘Yes,’ said Black, stopping short, and turning round to face him. ‘James asked me to come get you. We’re working on the map.’

‘Oh. Right. Er, sure, I’ll just get my things,’ Remus said, gesturing to the Great Hall over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Meet you in the library?’

Black looked vaguely annoyed. ‘Sure,’ he said, eventually, and then turned and left, rather abruptly. Remus stared after him for a moment, then shook his head, and went back into the Great Hall to collect his things. Thomas grinned at him just before he took his leave, and Remus returned it.

* * *

Unlike he had planned, the rest of the day was spent working with the three Marauders in the library in an attempt to fully construct and animate the fourth floor of the draft of the Hogwarts map that they had been working for on a while now. The fourth floor, however, was having none of it, fussy and unrelentingly collapsing in on itself, completely scattering the third floor beneath it, leading to Black letting out a series of colourful expletives that earned them all sharp looks from Madam Pince, who happened to be passing by.

When the last auburn-gold rays of sunlight had long since faded into darkness, Remus glanced at his watch as inconspicuously as he could, and then quietly told them that he really should be leaving, because he was not only starving, but he had yet to do any of his homework.

James heaved a big sigh. ‘Yeah, let’s leave it for now,’ he said, sitting back in his chair and taking off his glasses, scrubbing at his eyes with his palm. Pettigrew immediately followed suit, sitting back in his own chair and nodding fervently.

Black looked scandalised. ‘I can’t believe you lot are abandoning ship at the first sign of trouble,’ he said, unkindly.

Pettigrew gave him a look. ‘We’ve been at it since before breakfast, Sirius.’

‘Fine,’ Black said, pushing the drawing of the map aside with more force than necessary. He shoved his chair noisily back from the table with his legs, and then stood up, taking three large steps away from the table before pausing, and turning back around. ‘Well?’ he barked, at Remus.

Confused, Remus looked at James, who held up his hands, and then at Pettigrew, who looked equally puzzled. He threw Black a searching look. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘We’re going to the kitchens,’ Black scowled. His tone was cool, confident and authorial, making him sound like he was someone who was very used to have everything go his way.

Remus’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. ‘Are we?’

Black jutted his jaw forward in annoyance. ‘I can’t carry food for four people by myself,’ he managed to bring out through clenched teeth.

‘You have a wand?’ Pettigrew pointed out, sounding confused.

A look of dark anger flashed across Black’s face, and he balled his hands up into fists. ‘Fine, I’ll go by myself,’ he sneered, and then stormed off, leaving a slightly uneasy silence in his wake.

It was broken, a second later, by James, who shrugged.  ‘He gets like that sometimes,’ he said airily. ‘Best to let him cool off for a bit.’

‘Should I?’ Remus wondered, out loud, looking at him.

James shrugged again. ‘If you want to.’

Remus considered, for a moment, whether he felt up to the task, but then pushed back his own chair, and got up from the table. ‘Which way are the kitchens?’ he asked James, who silently pointed out a set of doors that led back towards the Great Hall. Remus thanked him and then quietly made his way out of the library. Black hadn’t made it too far ahead, and he walking with his hands shoved into his pockets in the corridor leading off the Great Hall when Remus found him. Black looked around at the sound of his approaching footsteps, and, to Remus’s surprise, allowed Remus to catch up with him, but he kept his mouth shut.  

Remus had never been to the kitchens before, but Black had, and he effortlessly made his way there, walking down an unfamiliar staircase and finally stopping in a corridor just off the left hand of that, pausing in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit. He reached out and stroked his index finger over the pear in a very poor imitation of a tickle, but the pear squirmed, laughed, and transformed into a green door handle.

Black pulled it down and pushed the portrait door forward, revealing a huge, high-ceilinged room with stone-flagged floors and hundreds upon hundreds of house-elves. There were house-elves stationed at a large stove that spanned the entirety of the left wall, stirring pots and pans; elves chopping up vegetables at a large workbench just off of that, while others pushed plates of food onto the four tables in the middle of the room, which Remus realised directly mirrored the house tables in the Great Hall.

Remus, although he knew that the castle had its own set of house-elves, had only ever seen pictures of them in schoolbooks. He couldn’t supress the feeling that he was intruding. ‘Are you sure we can –’ he murmured.

‘It’s fine,’ Black dismissed, but the look on his face softened a little bit.

One of the house-elves passing by noticed them and came to an abrupt stop, leading the elf that was walking behind her to crash into her with a painful crunch. ‘Master Black!’ she exclaimed, in a high-pitched voice, shouting over the wail of the house-elf behind her, who was stood gripping his nose, shattered dishes around his feet. ‘Tippy is happy to see you, Master Black! Is you wanting anything to eat?’

‘Yes, please, Tippy,’ Black said, charmingly.

Remus, meanwhile, had dropped onto his haunches and had reached out a hand to the house-elf stood behind Tippy. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, kindly.

Like a switch being turned off, the house-elf immediately stopped wailing, his ears twitching as he surveyed Remus with large, green eyes. ‘Yes, Master!’ he exclaimed, in a squeaky voice. ‘I is fine! Would Master like anything to eat?’

‘Really, just Remus is fine,’ Remus said, a bit taken aback, ‘but are you sure you’re all right?’

The house-elf nodded vigorously, as if to assure Remus he was perfectly fine, and Tippy clapped her hands together loudly. ‘Master Remus and Master Black want something to eat!’ she bellowed, effortlessly commanding the attention of the room.

All around them, there was a flurry of excitement, as a whole host of elves gathered and guided them towards the fireplace in the oddest procession Remus had ever been part of. One of the elves snapped his fingers and a small square table, complete with an elaborate white table cloth, and two cushion-backed, checkered chairs appeared out of thin air. They were ceremoniously ushered into the chairs, and Remus watched, slightly uneasy, as napkins, plates, and shiny silver cutlery was produced for them.

In the end, the house-elves served them what Remus presumed to be lunch for the next day: steaming asparagus soup, shepherd’s pie fresh from the oven and garlicky, baked potatoes. Everything was delicious and Remus felt, with each passing course, more put-upon and out of place. Across him, Black appeared entirely unruffled by the goings-on, his table manners impeccable. He hadn’t said a word to Remus since entering the kitchen, but he smiled when Tippy produced, for dessert, stewed apples and clotted cream.

After Black had taken a bite, Remus carefully ventured an attempt at a conversation. ‘Feel better?’ he asked.

Black looked up sharply, but after a moment or two, nodded, shifting his gaze towards the flickering fire in the hearth. ‘Yeah.’ Then, after a pause, he added, ‘It’s – sometimes, they just get on my nerves. Pete doesn’t contribute to the map at all and is obviously in love with that Hufflepuff bint while pretending he isn’t and Jim –’ He stopped himself in the middle of a breath, and then went on, ‘I’ve been trying to fix that stupid floor on the map since before Christmas and they’re no help.’

Remus tilted his head slightly to the side. ‘You know you don’t have to –’ he began, softly.

‘I don’t have to what?’ Black demanded, icily, putting down his fork on his plate with a clatter that made a nearby house-elf jump.

Remus pressed his lips together and regarded him with his eyebrows slightly raised. Black met his gaze, having made every attempt to keep his face blank, but his narrowed eyes gave him away. Apparently, his angry mood hadn’t vanished at all, but had only been simmering beneath the surface, and Remus was beginning to feel just a tiny bit stupid for not listening to James, who obviously knew Black very well. Finally, he said, ‘Let’s go.’

‘Go where?’ Black sneered.

Instead of replying, Remus pushed his plate forward, and profusely thanked the house-elf that appeared to clear it for him. He accepted the pocketful of cauldron cakes and fresh apples that Tippy provided, in order to have something to give to James and Pettigrew later, and then took Black by the arm, steering him past the milling house-elves, most of whom bowed as they left, and taking him out of the kitchens through the portrait. Against Remus’s expectations, Black allowed Remus to lead him through the corridors, which were mostly empty save for the occasional student, as most everyone was at dinner.

Further and further they climbed, Black utterly silent, Remus’s pockets weighing heavy with food, until they reached the seventh floor. Remus tugged Black into the left corridor and then stopped, abruptly, in front of the wall across the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, letting go of Black’s sleeve at the same time, which caused Black to stumble forward, and almost crash into him.  

‘What the –’ Black began.

‘I need you to think very clearly about where you want to be right now,’ Remus said, before he could finish. ‘And then walk past the wall three times.’

Black stared at him in confusion. ‘What?’

‘Concentrate very hard,’ Remus repeated. ‘On what you need right now and then walk past the wall three times.’

Black’s eyes glittered in anger. ‘Are you having me on?’ he sneered.

Remus shook his head. ‘I can do it for you, but it won’t be as effective as when the magic is responding to your wishes. Just try it,’ he advised.

Heaving an impatient sigh, and looking like he wanted to do anything but this, Black closed his eyes, and walked in front of the wall three times. After the third time he’d passed by, a framed, mahogany brown door materialised, the detailing around the border unnecessarily elaborate, the handle marble and gold. Black, who had opened his eyes again, stared at it, and then at Remus.

‘Go on,’ Remus encouraged, gesturing for him to open it.

Black hesitated, foot hovering in the air in a step he hadn’t quite taken, but then he made up his mind, and pushed open the door, stepping inside. Before it could fall shut behind him, Remus hurried forward and caught it with his hand, holding it open long enough for him to step inside the room, as well.

The first thing that struck him, as the door closed behind him, was the salty smell of the air and the unstable feeling of his feet as his shoes sank deeper down into the reddish yellow sand beneath him. He noticed the warmth of the sun that stood high in the sky, its rays glittering off the turquoise green water of the sea, which was lapping, gently, at the shore, leaving behind seashells Remus had never seen before. They were on a deserted beach, the coastline stretching for miles to the west, and curving into large and looming grey cliffs to the east.

Black was standing, stock-still, a few steps in front of him, gazing at his surroundings with surprise etched in every line of his face. He turned around and looked at Remus in disbelief.

‘Wh –’ he began, and then tried again, ‘Where are we?’

‘You wished it,’ Remus replied, with a shrug. ‘Where does it look like?’

‘I wished to be somewhere else,’ Black said, uncomprehending. ‘But you can’t just leave Hogwarts by walking through a door and – and there are no beaches like this in Scotland. This looks more like the one in France –’ He looked around, his eyes focusing on something behind Remus. ‘There’s our family cottage, it’s – we can’t have left the castle and travelled to France! What the _fuck_ , Lupin?’ he all but shouted, voice rising.

‘I don’t know exactly how it works,’ Remus confessed, holding up his hands and wondering when the best time to apologise would be. ‘This room changes into whatever you need most at that moment. It reacts to your thoughts. It’s – it’s called the Room of Requirement.’

Black’s eyes were wide. ‘How the hell do you know all these places in the castle I don’t?’ he demanded, but he was smiling, which made Remus smile back, carefully, too.

Black gingerly made his way forward, shucking his shoes, and then dipped his toes into the water. Finding it to be at an acceptable temperature, he unabashedly stripped down to his underwear, abandoned his clothes with little care, ran forward and, with a victorious whoop and annoyingly perfect form, dove into the ocean. Remus watched him for a little while, grinning when Black came up for air with a triumphant gasp and waved at him, calling him in.

Although he would’ve liked to swim, he wasn’t keen on the conversation that would inevitably follow once Black saw his scars, so he shook his head, and turned around, easily spotting the building that Black had pointed out, and instead, made the decision to go explore. He trudged up the hilly sand towards the Black family beach cottage, which was built of brown-coloured stone, with a thinly bricked, v-shaped roof, and when Remus stepped through the front door, he found himself in the middle of a living room.

The heavy smell of lavender permeated through the house, wafting in from the garden at the back, which was clearly visible through arched window frames that had no glass. The walls were whitewashed, the floorboards underneath his feet creaky and grey, and the furniture was mostly haphazard, but somehow matched perfectly. The spacious living room hid a kitchen in a curve three steps in, which had light wooden cabinets, a black marble countertop, and a door which Remus presumed led into the rest of the house. A handsome black glass cabinet just off the side of the kitchen was filled with bottles and bottles of drinks: wine, champagne, water, lemonade.

Remus allowed his hand to trail past the top of the cabinet, walking until he reached the other end of the living room, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. The wall was barely visible through the rows and rows of books that were stacked, in every direction, on shelves that started at the floor and rose all the way up to the ceiling. Remus stepped forward, letting his hand trace across spines until one caught his attention, and he reached out a hand to grab the book off the shelf.

Black snorted behind him. ‘Thought I’d find you here,’ he said.

Remus turned around. Black was stood, hip leaning against a wooden table Remus had somehow overlooked, arms folded over his chest. His body was wet from the sea, drops catching the flashes of sunlight that danced through the archways, hair slicked back and dripping water in a steady tap-tap rhythm on the table. Remus, for reasons he couldn’t really explain, felt a sharp tug around his navel.

‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered, suddenly embarrassed by his own curiosity. He dropped his hand and stepped away from the bookcase, wondering, perhaps a bit belatedly, if he should’ve asked Black’s permission before going inside his house. Or better yet, if he should just have left Black here, in the Room of Requirement, by himself, until his mood had vanished.

‘It’s fine,’ came the kind reply, and Remus felt Black’s gaze sweep over him, which made him look down to the floor. After a long pause, voice low and sincere, Black said, ‘Thank you.’

Remus, feeling tension hum between his shoulders for no reason at all, looked up, and smiled. ‘You’re welcome.’

* * *

In the end, Remus stayed at the beach with Black for hours. Black exhausted himself swimming, staging elaborate races in which he forced Remus to be the impartial judge, even though there were no other competitors and Black was declared winner all of the time. Together, they took a long walk towards the cliffs and gave up halfway through, as they seemed no closer than before, and Black cleverly observed on the way back that, since he’d never visited them, they probably didn’t fully exist in this version of the beach.

He had allowed Remus to pull the book he had wanted, which was written entirely in French, off the shelf and Remus started reading it while they were sat on the beach with their feet dipped into the water. He got through the first three chapters with Black’s enthusiastic help, although Remus, halfway through, started to have his doubts about the accuracy of Black’s translation. When he expressed this, however, Black feigned offence, and pushed Remus, unceremoniously, into the water, clothes and all, and took Remus’s wand from him when he attempted to cast a Drying Charm.

Black very reluctantly put his clothes back on some time after the sun had set, and they laid on the beach watching the first stars appear in the night sky, drinking through two bottles of wine pulled from the cabinet off the kitchen, Black having convinced him of the fact that they weren’t both underage in France, so it technically wasn’t against the law. By the time they left the room, there was a pleasant hum of alcohol thrumming through Remus’s veins, which didn’t fade as they stepped through into the corridor, closing the door behind them. The passage was very dark and cold compared to the warmth of the room and Remus couldn’t supress a shiver at the abrupt change. It was then, belatedly, that he remembered that the food for James and Pettigrew was still in his pocket, but when he pulled out a cauldron cake, it was soggy and wet and sticky with seaweed and sand.

Black barked out a laugh. ‘Best get rid of those,’ he advised.

‘Yeah,’ Remus said softly, guiltily banishing them with a flick of his wand, his movements, although slightly unfocused, nonetheless effective.

Black slung an arm over Remus’s shoulder and pulled him close, his body warm and his too-long, sand-sticky hair tickling Remus’s face. Grumbling, Remus pushed it aside, but allowed Black to steer him down two flights of stairs and through deserted corridors, until they reached the fifth floor below.

‘This is me,’ Remus said, softly, shrugging off Black’s arm, and stepping aside. ‘I’ll see you around.’

Black gave him a magnetic grin, which lit up his face, pulling warmth all the way up to his eyes. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘You’ve already thanked me,’ Remus replied, but he returned the grin. ‘You’re welcome. Goodnight.’

‘Night, Remus,’ Black whispered, but Remus heard, and the words made him smile all the way down to the dormitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although some of you have likely picked it up at this point, Danny Thomas is meant to be Dean Thomas’s father. Since Dean is one of my favourite characters in the series, and we never get to know his father, I thought it would be an excellent opportunity to introduce him here. He is named for one of my favourite Dr Who characters.
> 
> Also, there is some debate in canon whether or not the Marauders ever discovered the Room of Requirement since it’s not shown on the map, but I imagine Remus would be just the one to find it.
> 
> Finally, I was going to reveal who Remus kissed for the first time in this chapter, but it didn't quite fit in well. But yes, you will find out!


	16. Chapter 15 - to equivocate

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 15: _to equivocate_

January closed with a full moon that was not nearly as bad as some that had come before it, and it left Remus with only a tiny new scar across the back of his neck, which was easily covered by his too-long hair. This much to Remus’s palpable relief, considering the fact that all of his teachers appeared to have come to the realisation that N.E.W.T.s were just a few months away, and had started increasing their workload. As Remus was taking more classes than most students in his year, was tutoring five people, and had his Head Boy duties to contend with, it was inevitable that he fell back into a rhythm of stress and little sleep, the diary the three Marauders had given him helpfully letting him know, in glittering ink, that he was always just one step behind.

Remus’s business meant that he hadn’t seen much of the three Gryffindors since their map effort on that Saturday early in January, although Black kept up a very steady stream of conversation through the parchment. Often, just seeing Black’s looping handwriting would be enough to make Remus smile, even if he didn’t always have time to respond to the messages and had to turn down most, if not all, requests to meet up in the library to work on the map or come outside for a game of Quidditch, because he simply had no time.

Unfortunately, his body caught up with him, and just a few days into February, he woke up with a sore throat, a feeling of heaviness in his limbs, and a dry cough that came in fits, and left him bent over double and breathless by the end of it. After finishing his classes for the day, he had stopped by the Hospital Wing, and asked Madam Pomfrey for a dose of Pepper-Up Potion. Since the cold was steadily making its way through the castle, Pomfrey carried the recommended dosage of the potion in her robes, and had produced a vial with the antidote for him within seconds.

After he had swallowed the potion, Pomfrey had shown him to a chair and had waited until the hot steam had finished pouring out of Remus’s ears, prickly and uncomfortably, and had then examined him. She had drawn back, quite quickly, with a sympathetic look on her face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she had said, ‘I think you’ll have to sit this one out.’ She had explained to him that the potion wouldn’t work properly on him, something to do with the magic of it failing to react with the bacteria, due to his lycanthropy.

Remus, who was far too used to things like that happening, had merely thanked her for her time, and shaken his head when she asked if he wanted to stay until he had fully recovered. Although Pomfrey was very kind, he spent enough time as it was in Hospital Wing, and if there was any way he could prevent another stay, he would. Besides, the cold wasn’t that bad, if he really thought about it, which, given the fact that he barely had any free time to think as it was, he simply didn’t.

However, over the last week and a half, Remus’s cold had only gotten worse, to the point where he now spent most of the time coughing. Clouthier, who had the bed to the left of him and usually ignored Remus, had, in an unprecedented move, kindly advised him to go to the Hospital Wing just that morning, to which Remus had croaked, mid-cough, that he already had done so. Clouthier didn’t appear to believe him, but commented no further on the matter, leaving the dormitory with Allard in tow. Thomas shot him a concerned look over his shoulder as he followed his friends out the door, but Remus suspected that had more to do with the fact that he had been trying to tie his shoes for the last twenty minutes, but kept getting interrupted by his own coughing, than anything else.

Presently, it was mid-afternoon and Remus was sat, back propped up against the wall of the tower classroom, his books, scraps of parchment, and half-finished homework placed, neatly, in concentric circles all around him. He was halfway through his Herbology essay when the door opened and Black stumbled in. Remus lifted his head as if in a daze, half-finished plant drawings dancing in front of his eyes, but Black gave a happy laugh, and made his way over to where Remus was sitting.

He sat down, feet outstretched, his tie undone and his hair dripping wet and a little stringy from the salt of the ocean. ‘Hello,’ he greeted cheerily and Remus gave him a tired smile in reply. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. Just went for a swim.’

‘You look like it,’ Remus told him hoarsely.

‘Have you got a cold?’ Black asked, a deep frown marring his brow.

‘A little one, yes,’ Remus admitted, after a pause that might’ve been slightly too long.

There was a cool hand on his forehead, pressing his hair back against his skin, which was slightly sticky. ‘Merlin, you’re burning up. Why don’t you go to the Hospital Wing for some Pepper-Up?’ Black demanded, his face suddenly very close.

Remus had to blink a couple of times before Black swam properly into focus. ‘Already did,’ he replied.

‘I have told you before you’re a terrible liar,’ Black told him pointedly.

Remus shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter, I’ve got homework.’ He gestured vaguely at the things spread out all around him.

‘You can’t be –’ Black said, but Remus missed the rest of the sentence because of another coughing fit, which relentlessly wracked through his body and left him gasping for air, tears in his eyes.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Black’s voice, impatient but worried, ‘you should be in bed.’

‘Can’t,’ Remus wheezed.

‘The fuck you can’t,’ Black said, angrily, and pulled Remus up, easily, effortlessly, aided, quite possibly, by the fact that Remus hadn’t really felt much like eating in the last few days. The abrupt movement made Remus’s blood rush to his head, and his vision spun as he staggered. ‘Woah, woah,’ Black said, stabilising him just before he could collide, face-first, with the wall. ‘Jesus. Just, stay still, yeah?’

Remus nodded, vaguely, only half-listening, and then very gingerly slid down the wall again, sinking onto his knees and pressing his forehead against the cool stones. Black had stepped away from him and was having a hurried conversation with his back turned towards him. Remus had to blink a couple of times to make sure that he wasn’t missing anything, but there was no one else in the room.

Shaking his head, Remus turned, and bent down slowly, very slowly, until he was sat surveying the system he’d created on the floor, which taken the better part of twenty minutes to arrange. He reached, mindlessly, for the book closest to him, but suddenly, there was a hand on his, and he stilled, his grip on the Transfiguration theory book in his hands slackening. ‘Stop,’ Black commanded, and it was only because Remus’s vision was still spinning that he listened, sitting back against the wall with his eyes closed.

Minutes later, there came the loud, recognisable bang of a wooden door colliding with a stone wall, and Remus winced at the sound, which seemed both far too loud and yet, somehow, muted. Someone gently shook his shoulder. ‘Remus?’ said James’s voice, and Remus reluctantly opened his eyes, focusing on him. ‘We’re going to get you to the Hospital Wing, mate.’

‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Remus said, slowly, pulling the words out from a place that kept those things for him and was usually more willing to provide them.

‘Yes, it is,’ Black said firmly, and then he was pulled up by his arms, and pressed between the two of them. Ten slightly disorienting minutes later, they arrived at the Hospital Wing, James stepping aside so that Black could lower him, gently, onto a bed. Remus sighed softly at the feel of the cool cotton against his hands, and hummed his thanks when Potter lowered his book bag onto a chair next to him.

The heavy creaking of the hospital doors had alerted Madam Pomfrey to their presence, and she came out of her office, sighing when she noticed, first, the two of them standing there. ‘Mr Potter, Mr Black, what appears to be the problem this time?’ she asked, her tone impatient.

‘Remus isn’t well,’ Black said shortly, stepping aside so that she could see, and perhaps Remus imagined it, but she appeared to quicken her step as she made her way to the bed he was sitting on.

‘Mr Lupin,’ she said, and then warm, capable hands were pushing him back, guiding him until he was laid upon the bed. Madam Pomfrey swept past Black and Potter and sat down on the stool she produced from under the bed, closer than she usually did, examining Remus with a dizzying array of spells, none of which he recognised. Finally, she took a cool hand away from his forehead, and she sat back.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Black asked her, voice low and worried.

‘He’s got a chest infection,’ Madam Pomfrey said, pushing her wand back into her breast pocket and gently nudging the stool back under the bed. ‘Not pleasant. Can’t be cured by anything I have.’

‘What? Surely Pepper-Up Potion should do the trick?’ James asked, frowning. He sounded surprised.  

Pomfrey swept her gaze over him and then gave a kind smile. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, Mr Potter. The Pepper-Up Potion cures the common cold and won’t work for this kind of infection,’ she replied. ‘I can alleviate some of Mr Lupin’s symptoms, but I’m afraid that’s all I can do. I think it’s wise if he stays.’ This was directed at Remus, who looked down at his knees. ‘I’ll come back to check with you in a moment,’ she added, and then left to tend to the student who had just stepped through the doors.

‘I can’t stay,’ Remus protested, feebly, around a cough, looking imploringly at the two of them. ‘I’ve got homework and Head Boy duties –’

‘Shut up, you’re staying,’ Black told him, but his voice wasn’t unkind. ‘We’ll figure something out.’

‘How about I talk to Evans about your Head Boy duties?’ James proposed a split-second later, sounding far too excited at the prospect. ‘She’s a Prefect, so she’ll know what to do. You know, I’ll go do that right way, best get it sorted now. Feel better, Lupin,’ he added, and then all but raced out of the Hospital Wing.

Black rolled his eyes, and stepped closer to the bed, placing his hand on the pillow, inches away from Remus’s face. ‘I’ll talk to Flitwick about your homework and stuff. Don’t worry about it, yeah?’

Remus nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said hoarsely.

Black ruffled his hair and then gave a cheerful wave, leaving Remus with Madam Pomfrey, who had sent the other girl away, steam pouring out of her ears. She gave Remus a kind smile as she pulled up a set of customary white curtains around the bed with a flick of her wand, and then handed him a set of hospital pyjamas. ‘Go get changed while I get the some potions to alleviate your symptoms. You really should’ve stayed when I first told you to, Mr Lupin. Recovery will be much longer now.’

‘Sorry,’ Remus apologised, but she shook her head and turned, leaving him to it.

She returned minutes later, pulling aside the curtains after asking him if he was decent and then putting a tray of different potions on his nightstand. She made Remus take a dose of each of them until she came to the last one, which she took in her hand and shook vigorously. ‘How much sleep have you had in the last seven days?’ she wanted to know, as the liquid inside the bottle turned from a clear, crystal grey to an unattractive sort of murky brown. ‘An average is fine.’

‘Er,’ said Remus, eyeing it warily, and then guessed, ‘I think six hours?’

If Madam Pomfrey was surprised to hear this, she didn’t show it, merely pressing her lips into a thin line and fetching a larger measuring spoon out of a pocket in her robes to measure out his dosage. The potion tasted of citrus, and Remus pulled a face at the unexpected tang of it on his tongue. As soon as he’d swallowed it, drowsiness overtook him, and he fell, like a log, down on the sheets, fast asleep.

* * *

Remus was dreaming, dreaming of a full moon illuminating the castle grounds, and he was in front of the lake, in the middle of a transformation, when his mother headed straight to him, arms thrown wide as if she wanted to envelop him in a motherly hug. Remus tried to get away, but his mother’s fingers had turned into claws that were pulling at his robes, tearing them apart, and then – he sat straight up in bed, wide awake.

His sudden movement drew a startled yelp from the person sitting on the visitor’s chair next to his bed. ‘Fucking hell –’

The rest of the sentence was drowned out, because the short bursts of breaths that Remus had been letting out shifted, seamlessly, into a full-on coughing fit, and he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath through it all. Someone pushed a glass into one of his hands and Remus took small sips of the water until he felt, gradually, his body calm down. He let himself fall back against his pillow, still a little winded.

‘All right?’ asked Black gently. He was sitting on the bed, looking at Remus with a kind, if slightly worried, expression on his face. Remus noticed only now that his hair had grown past his shoulders, and he was wearing the jacket he favoured on weekends, the black leather illuminated by the dim sunlight that streamed onto the bed from one of the tall windows.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Remus said, after a little while, moving his fingers over the flowered grooves in the glass.

‘I’m a Gryffindor, we don’t scare easily,’ Black said, in such a superior, haughty tone, Remus laughed.

Black grinned at him. ‘Feeling any better?’

Remus thought for a moment. Although the cough was there, the heaviness in his limbs had disappeared, his head felt clearer and his throat felt no longer sore, even if it was still a little swollen. So he nodded, and took another sip of water. ‘Thanks. Pomfrey told me off for not coming in sooner.’

‘I should think so,’ Black said. ‘You looked like utter shit.’

‘What day is it today?’ Remus ventured, choosing to ignore that statement, although, really, he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know the answer. He had been sleeping most of the time he was in here, fading in and out of consciousness as Madam Pomfrey administered him his potions. She had informed him that his cold had progressively grown worse because he hadn’t been sleeping enough, and that it was best to give his body a chance to recuperate before the next full moon.  

‘Sunday, the tenth,’ Black said.  

Remus blew out a breath. That meant a whole week had passed since they had brought him into the Hospital Wing. He had lost a whole _week_ to this cold, and in four days’ time, it would be the February full moon, which, given that it was a blood moon, would likely be terrible. Not entirely unsurprisingly, his body was already coiling with tension at the thought of what that would mean.  

Apparently his worry was written across his face, because Black gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry, me and Jim have it all sorted out,’ he promised, sitting back down upon the visitor’s chair and putting his feet, casually, on top of Remus’s legs. ‘As Head Girl, Parkinson has taken over all of your duties, and she’s given the rest of the seventh year Prefects more responsibilities. Evans is busy planning something called the graduation ball?’ He looked at Remus for confirmation, who merely nodded. ‘Right, so Evans is doing that. James keeps offering to help her with it, which she’s none too pleased about. Shafiq has taken over your tutoring thing, and although the love of my life, Minerva McGonagall, yelled at me when I told her you had to be replaced because she thought I had something to do with it, I’ve since forgiven her for it, so all is good.’

Remus smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘I haven’t told you the best part yet,’ Black said, grinning, and leaning back the chair, so that it wobbled dangerously on its back legs. ‘No homework!’ At Remus’s blank look, he continued, ‘Flitwick talked to all of the teachers for you, and although Slughorn apparently didn’t want to believe that his stupid essay wasn’t important, most of the teachers have said they’ll only set you new work once you return to class, so you can catch up when you feel better.’

‘Wow,’ Remus said, hardly daring to believe it.

‘It’s all because of me and Jim, of course,’ Black told him, grinning broadly. ‘We can be very persuasive.’

‘I don’t even want to know,’ Remus said, but he was smiling.

Black told him anyway.

* * *

Over the next few days, his annoying cough, thankfully, faded away, and Remus was even able, despite Pomfrey’s strict orders to the contrary, to get started on some of his homework, which Pettigrew brought with him when he was visiting. James visited, too, full of stories about Lily and the graduation ball that he was helping her plan, much to her obvious chagrin, which James elected to ignore. Black, however, visited him every day. On Tuesday, he offered to help Remus write his History of Magic essay, taking the parchment out of Remus's protesting hands while making loud, shushing noises. At the end of the afternoon, Remus snatched it back, because he couldn’t, in good faith, allow Black to write about the Goblin Rebellion of 1869 any longer.

‘How are you not getting a “T” for every essay you hand in?’ he demanded.

‘It’s Binns,’ Black whispered conspiringly. ‘He likes it when I’m sordid.’

He insisted on reading and re-enacting, out loud, the part of the essay he’d written, which made Remus laugh so loud, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office to shush them, and threatened to bodily remove Black from the ward if he carried on like that. All in all, Remus’s stay in the Hospital Wing, although unplanned, was a far more pleasant one than he had ever had.

Currently, it was two hours before sunset on Friday afternoon, and Madam Pomfrey, with much ceremony, declared him to be healed and dismissed him from hospital. Privately, Remus thought her dismissal a little unnecessary, because he was just going to see her again after dinner; she always accompanied him to the Whomping Willow before sunset and checked that all of the wards that Dumbledore had put in place were still safe.

Still, he headed up to his dormitory to collect his favourite, worn-in jeans and a comfy, woollen jumper, which he planned to keep in his bedside table until he would be leaving the Hospital Wing. Then, making use of the quietness of the castle as everyone was at dinner, he headed to the kitchens, and gratefully accepted a pastry or two from Tippy, who remembered him from last time and seemed very happy to see him. On a whim, he also went to the library, and borrowed a handful of books that he hoped to be able to read and take notes from, at his leisure, in bed.  

He arrived back at the Hospital Wing with ten minutes to spare, and Madam Pomfrey gave him a rare, worried smile as they waited, together, until it was mostly dark out, and most students had returned to their common rooms. Then, they walked down to the Whomping Willow, Remus pulling the soft hospital blanket around his shoulders tighter than strictly necessary. Then, Pomfrey wished him well, and then he was all alone.

When the red moon rose, it pulled and pushed, breaking him from the inside out, and Remus screamed until his lungs gave out.

* * *

Remus pulled himself out of a confusing dream that faded out of his mind as soon as he opened his eyes, and found the Hospital Wing dark, and quiet, and empty. He reached out a hand towards the nightstand, feeling a very pointed jerk of pain in the very middle of his back at the movement, and he had to try a couple of times before his fingers clasped, firmly, over his watch-strap. He pulled it close, peering at the hands, and let out an involuntary groan when he saw that it was barely three o’clock in the morning. Underneath the blanket, the heat of sleep was leaving him, and he shivered, slightly, in the cold that seeped in through the tiny gaps his movement had made in the fabric.

He tried to will himself back to sleep for a while but it was no use, because no matter which way he turned, his back twanged painfully with every movement he made, and his lower body was, in fact, completely uncooperative. In the end, he just lay on his back, and listened to the wind rattling, softly, the windows of the Hospital Wing. Then, unexpectedly, a soft orange-yellow light came on, landing in a beam on his sheets, and Remus turned his head to the left and saw the silhouette of Madam Pomfrey slowly making her way to his bed through the white curtains. When she pushed them aside, he could see that the light had come from her office, and that her eyes were framed by dark circles, although she appeared wide awake.

‘Mr Lupin,’ she breathed, her face pinched with worry, and then she took a seat on his bed. She lit the lamp on his bedside table with a lazy flick of her wrist, bathing the small, cosy bed in light, which bounced off the curtains. ‘There you are.’

‘Hello,’ Remus greeted, politely, and was surprised at the raw edge of hoarseness to his voice despite its low volume. He looked at her, questioningly, but she busied herself with her examination, pulling her wand out of her pocket and casting one familiar spell after the other. After a few minutes, she appeared satisfied, and smoothed the blankets again.

‘You gave us all quite a fright,’ she stated, and although her tone was matter-of-fact, there was something else there, something Remus couldn’t put his finger on. ‘When I found you two days ago, your injuries were such that I feared you might not make it through the night. Your parents were here, and they only left last night to get some sleep.’

Remus looked at her, face uncomprehending.

‘You have fractured and dislocated your spine,’ she said. ‘And although I can usually heal those, the damage to your spinal nerves and your spinal cord was too severe. You’ll need to go to St Mungo’s for an operation before we can assess if you can walk again.’

Remus’s throat went dry and, for some reason, he suddenly remembered clearly the whiny, thin voice of the Head Healer telling his parents that nine out of ten children bitten by a werewolf didn’t survive past the age of eighteen due to the severity of their self-inflicted injuries. At the time, he hadn’t understood what it meant, but now ... now he was beginning to.

‘I – I see,’ he responded, finally, with only a dim kind of realisation of what this would mean. His voice was still hoarse.  

‘I’ll be in my office,’ Pomfrey said, giving him a rare smile. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

The morning arrived slowly, gently bathing the Hospital Wing in shades of pink, orange, red, and yellow, which peeked over the top edge of the white curtains drawn tightly around his bed and collided and bounced off the familiar, shimmery magic of the Notice-Me-Not Charm. At around eight, Madam Pomfrey sat down at his side and helped him eat a meagre breakfast consisting of buttered toast and a cup of tea, and then disappeared into her office, leaving the curtains around Remus’s bed open. At precisely at ten o’clock, there was a loud whoosh of Floo transport, followed by a clutter of unfamiliar voices and then, two lime-green robed figures appeared in the Hospital Wing, floating a stretcher between them. Madam Pomfrey made up the rear.

‘I’m assistant Healer Meadowes,’ said the cheerful-looking witch with blonde curls, who arrived at his bed first. ‘And this is my colleague.’ She gestured behind her and Remus’s breath caught, stickily, in his throat.

The woman behind her, with a smattering of freckles and black, unruly hair styled in two plaits, was Marlene McKinnon, who had won the game of Sardines and was James Potter’s niece. She smiled at Remus, as if this was the first time they’d met. ‘Assistant Healer McKinnon, how do you do? We will be transferring you to St Mungo’s, Mr Lupin, to perform on you an operation for your spine. If we are successful, you will be able to return to Hogwarts within the next week or so to continue your recovery. Any questions?’

Remus shook his head, wordlessly.

The stretcher hovered in the air for a moment, but under the direction of assistant Healer Meadowes’s wand, it floated towards him and joined itself with the metal rim of the bed. The assistant Healers stood on either side and carefully pushed him onto the stretcher and then lifted it, and him, back up into the air. They took him into Pomfrey’s office, which was large and spacious and impeccably tidy as always, and then moved him towards the fireplace. Healer Meadowes grabbed the edge of the stretcher by his feet in order to keep him still, and then they stepped into the hearth, and Remus barely heard McKinnon shout their destination over the roaring of the fire.

They arrived in a private room in the middle of St Mungo’s, which Remus recognised as the room they kept free for Hogwarts students, and then the assistant Healers transferred him to the bed that was free in the middle of the room. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the stretcher disappeared with a thin pop and then, almost simultaneously, a parchment appeared in the doorway, which floated over to McKinnon’s waiting hand. ‘Comfortable?’ assistant Healer Meadowes asked him, with a kind smile.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Remus said politely. His voice still had that hoarse quality to it, and he wondered, for the first time, if it would be a permanent thing, now. It wouldn’t have been the only thing that had changed because of this.

‘I’ll send your parents in,’ assistant Healer McKinnon said, winking at him. Together, they made their way out of the room, leaving him slightly bewildered as to their kindness. The few times he had been to St Mungo’s, the Healers were usually weary of him, one or two even openly confessing that they didn’t want to touch him too much in case his lycanthropy was contagious outside of the full moon. McKinnon and Meadowes seemed to harbour no such feelings, however, which was strange, to say the least.

Minutes later, the door was thrown open and then his mother was at his bed, clutching his hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, which made Remus suspect that she had been crying, but her hair was neatly brushed back into a bun and her lips were coated with the same lipstick she always wore, so perhaps he was mistaken about that. ‘Oh, Remus,’ she said, with a sigh.

Remus tried his best to smile, but looked up when, unexpectedly, his father stepped through the door. ‘Dad,’ he brought out. ‘What are you doing here?’

To Remus’s surprise, his father sat down on his other side, which reminded Remus a little too much of the last time they had done this, when he was just five years old. ‘We’ve been worried,’ his father said, interrupting his thoughts, and Remus looked at him.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he reassured. ‘They’ll be able to fix it.’

‘Remus,’ his mother said, taking a tone he’d not often heard her use, worry written all over her face. ‘We don’t know that.’

‘Things are going to be fine, don’t worry,’ Remus told her, squeezing her hand softly. She did not, in the least, look comforted.

‘That kind of naiveté is not warranted in this situation, Remus,’ his father said, quietly. ‘What if you are never able to walk again? What will you do then?’

Remus sighed. ‘Could we not?’ he requested, quietly.

‘Fine,’ his father replied, his tone impatient as he pulled away and got up off the bed. ‘I have to get back to the office, but I will check back in later.’

‘I have to go, too, they said you would need to be prepared,’ his mother said, following suit. She went two steps away from the bed, and then changed her mind. She turned back and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

The operation which, to Remus’s absolute horror, he had to be awake for, took place later that day, about an hour or two after his parents had left. It wasn’t painful at all, since they had numbed him from the neck down, but he did feel a feeling of unreality wash over him when, with an audible and loud crack, the bodies of three of his vertebrae were de-collapsed and realigned. This was followed by flashes of white healing magic which Meadowes, who had been sat on a stool next to him while he laid, face down, upon the operating table, told him meant that his torn and stretched ligaments were being fixed. She had been patiently talking him through every step of the operation, in an effort to keep him calm and distracted, and answered all of his questions. Then, Remus remembered nothing.

Hours later, he woke to the gentle shaking of assistant Healer McKinnon, who smiled and said that, as far as they could tell, the operation had been a success. ‘You will be sent to recover at Hogwarts in a few days, but things are looking well for now,’ she said. ‘Say hi to Sirius and James for me when you’re there, will you?’

‘I will,’ Remus acquiesced, barely audible, although he knew very well it was a promise he would not be able to keep.

* * *

Recovery, in the end, lasted for three long – very long – weeks. Remus was transferred back to Hogwarts a week after his operation, and very soon, Madam Pomfrey was teaching him to walk again on unstable, worryingly weak legs, which had grown slimmer, losing muscle from the fact that he had been lying still, most of the time. Thankfully, he was able to tend to all of his homework, and even prepare some notes for some of his tutoring sessions, which he hoped to resume as soon as he was dismissed. However, his Head Boy duties remained, sadly, neglected, and although Flitwick came to visit him, twice, he felt lonely and, although he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he missed his friends.

It was a good thing, then, that the parchment flared up, daily, with messages, which varied day by day in content and size. _Would avoid the corridor on the fourth floor, it’s a little cold and glacial_ , came on Monday, to which Remus replied that he would. _Map meeting at twr clsm?_ appeared on Tuesday, which took a while to figure out properly, so Remus wrote back _You seem to have misplaced some letters. Should I be getting you a dictionary for your birthday?_ He received back an amused, if slightly sharp, _That was in November, you tit, and you haven’t answered the question_. Regretfully, Remus declined the invitation.

These interactions were fine, and Remus could keep them up without giving too much away. However, in the middle of the second week, the messages started to change. _Are you ever at breakfast or do I just keep missing you?_ faded into existence on Wednesday, and Remus’s hurried, if untrue reply that he had just been going down for breakfast quite early because he was so busy was read, but received no response. On Thursday, when Remus turned down another map meeting, there was a suspicious _That’s the seventh one you’ve missed – no one’s that busy with homework. _Guiltily, Remus left it for later, and only responded, _Sorry_ before bed.

But then, on Friday morning, just after breakfast, he received the most worrying message of all, written in splotchy ink, as if Black had been in a hurry. _All right, so, I’ve been trying to find you all week. Asked Thomas yesterday, who said he thought you were still in the Hospital Wing recovering from your cold because he hadn’t seen you. Petey checked, but you’re not. This morning, James asked Flitwick about it, and he said that you’d made a full recovery and had been back in class for weeks now, yet somehow none of your classmates recall seeing you. Care to explain what the fuck’s going on?_

White hot panic and worry shot through Remus’s veins the minute he had finished reading the message, and he put the parchment down on his knees with shaky hands, letting out an unsteady breath. He put his head in his hands, his breaths coming out in shaky, shuddery gasps. He didn’t know why he was so blind-sighted by Black’s message, and he desperately tried to shut out the memory of his father’s voice, which kept accusingly repeating the things he’d shouted at Remus during their fight: _Do you have any idea what you’re doing? What you’re risking?_

Remus firmly shook his head to clear him of the memory, and attempted to focus. He knew that Black could see that he’d read the message on the parchment. He also knew that he had to come up with an excuse that was both believable and sound enough to prevent Black, James and Pettigrew from finding out that he was, in fact, a werewolf. Because if they knew, they would likely tell other people, panic would break out, and Professor Dumbledore would be forced to expel him from the school, Head Boy or not. The trouble was, although his mind was racing, he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out something to say that didn’t make him sound like the liar he was now unmasked to be.

He allowed himself another minute or so to think it over, but then, he steeled himself, and wrote down the story that Professor Dumbledore had come up with, to be shared only when there was a chance someone could figure out what he really, truly was. _I’m currently at home, in Wales, with my grandfather. He’s been sick for as long as I can remember and he isn’t getting any better. I go to visit him every once in a while._

The return, angry, disbelieving, splotchy, came seconds later: _Why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell everyone that?_

 _Because sometimes_ , Remus wrote, biting down hard on his lower lip, _it’s easier to lie._

The reply came, vivid in green ink, on Sunday, two days after Remus’s message. It was a colour Black had never used before, but it made his swooping, elegant letters stand out on the parchment, bitter, sharp and accusing: _Glad to hear you think I’m someone worth lying to._

Remus pulled the parchment off his nightstand and carefully folded it closed before it could register that he had read Black’s message. With immense effort, he pulled himself up, walked towards the chair beside his bed, opened his bag, and pushed the parchment down in the furthest corner his fingers could reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t quite know what’s going on, and I’m a little hesitant even mentioning it, but these chapters are giving me a terror of a time and I’ll admit it’s casting a kind of gloomy cloud of self-doubt over where I would like this all to go. Additionally, I was quite ill myself, and Remus's frustration in this chapter unintentionally has mirrored my own.
> 
> Thank you for all your kind messages in-between updates and your lovely reviews! Please know that if you want to ask me anything about this story and when it will be updated, I am better reached through [Tumblr](http://uncommonlysarah.tumblr.com/), where I can be found under the name “[uncommonlysarah](http://uncommonlysarah.tumblr.com/)”.


	17. Chapter 16 - to divaricate

**Mercury Lies  
** Chapter 16: _to divaricate_

The days following his admission to Sirius Black about his not-really-sick-grandfather were filled with odd, tiny slivers of regret, which Remus felt in the most mundane of things, like when he was brushing his teeth and talking to Madam Pomfrey about his potions. Nonetheless, his recovery was swift, and by the time Pomfrey dismissed Remus from the Hospital Wing, he had, thankfully, learned to walk again. Despite the fact that it took more thinking about than necessary, and that the pace he could move at was slower than he would’ve preferred, it was still progress, and Remus was happy about it, or so he pointedly told himself when it took him twice as long to get back to the common room.

Lessons began again for him the next day, and by the end of lunch hour, he had also met up with the Head Girl. Dahlia Parkinson had seemed thoroughly unimpressed by him, which he almost couldn’t fault her for, but dutifully told him everything that was going on with their shared Head duties, including patrols, reports, Hogwarts Open House sessions, and the planning of the graduation ball. He would be gradually working back up towards his pre-illness schedule, meeting weekly with the Prefects that had been carrying out extra duties due of his absence, until he was back up to speed, which would take about a month.

Once the meeting with Dahlia had ended and Remus was on his way to his next class, he happened to spot Pettigrew, Black and Potter, who were passing by on one of the lower staircases. Black’s hair was dripping wet, making Remus immediately suspect he had just gone for a swim in the Room of Requirement. James was walking by his side, looking utterly exasperated as he gesticulated wildly, while Pettigrew lagged a little behind, and was quietly looking on, nodding occasionally when James said something particularly scathing. Shoulders drawn tight, Remus turned away, and continued his way up to the Divination classroom, books pressed against his chest.

On Saturday, two full weeks after Black’s accusing message on the parchment and Remus’s subsequent, silent retreat into himself, announced the start of a Hogsmeade weekend and, after a quiet breakfast and a slightly awkward conversation with Thomas Remus was happy to see the end of, he slung his cloak over his shoulders and followed the throng of students outside the Great Hall into a nearly orderly queue by the giant front doors.

He gave his name to Professor McGonagall once it was his turn, and then he was following the path down towards the village. It was cold out, the grassy, hilly slopes glittering with a determined frost, and Remus pulled his winter cloak closer around his body, making a very slow and cautious descent. By the time he had reached the village high street, he’d lost all feeling in legs, and he was therefore more than grateful to reach the small hair salon, which lay a little off the beaten path, but was warm when he ducked inside.

A tinny bell rung in the back of the shop to announce his presence, and Remus took off his gloves, which were wet with frost and crackled in icy protest when he folded them in half and put them in his pocket. The salon smelled familiar, of cinnamon and sharp, zesty hair products, and there were only a couple of other customers in besides himself. They were getting their needs tended to by the salon’s staff members, who were all dressed in neat black robes, which were emblazoned with the logo of the salon on the back. A young girl, no older than him, appeared at the reception, her hair dyed in four different, flashing colours.

‘Welcome to Madame Cooke’s. How may I help you?’ she asked, but she sounded bored and uninterested in the answer.

‘Hello. I would like to get a haircut,’ Remus said, leaning his hand down on the counter and noticing, absently, that his fingers had turned a reddish shade of blue from the cold.

‘Did you have an appointment?’ the receptionist prompted, pulling out a large black diary from under the counter and raising her eyebrows up at him expectantly.

‘Ah, er, no, I’m afraid not,’ Remus replied.

She gave him a polite smile, and tucked the diary out of sight again. ‘All of our stylists are busy at the moment, I’m afraid, but we should be able to accommodate you after a small wait. May I take your cloak?’ She stepped out from behind the reception, and held out a hand.

Remus nodded, and unclasped the fastening of the heavy winter cloak his grandmother had given him, handing it over to her, along with his Ravenclaw scarf. She nearly collapsed under the weight, but she said nothing, only carried his cloak into a room off the side of the main salon, and gestured for him to follow when she returned. The comforting murmur of conversation followed Remus as he took a seat on the white sofa she directed him towards, which was adorned with plush, purple pillows, and looked out over a miniature back garden.

‘Would you like anything to drink?’ she asked, once he’d settled in.

‘No, thank you.’

She nodded. ‘Someone will be with you shortly.’

Forty minutes and a cup of frankly appalling, lukewarm tea he hadn’t asked for later, Remus had begun to admit that he was, maybe, desperate enough to begin reading one of the _Witch Weekly_ magazines, which were stacked up in a giant tower against a wall, and appeared to be his only form of entertainment. Just as he reached over to grab a magazine off the very top, a booming voice shouted his name, making Remus jump about a foot into the air.

He turned and saw that the owner of the salon, Madame Cooke, had appeared from the back office, and was beaming at him. She was wearing a pair of glasses round her neck and a black robe that billowed out flatteringly around her figure. Her platinum blond hair was shorter than he’d ever seen it, falling in a choppy pixie cut that somehow managed to flatter the roundness of her face immensely.

When Remus had been small, before his parents had moved out of Chepstow, his mother used to take him in to get his hair cut here, in Hogsmeade, because it happened to be where his father had taken her to get her hair done on their wedding day. Madam Cooke would cut Remus’s hair first, and would then allow him to roam through the salon, asking however many questions he wanted, while she tended to his mother’s hair. After she had finished, Remus and his mother would meet back up with his father, who would be stood waiting for them outside of the salon no matter how long it had taken for them to finish, and then Remus would be allowed to pick out a sweet at Honeydukes, before they would call it a day and head home.

After Remus was bitten, and they had a lot less money coming in, his mother had taken to getting her hair done at the salon down in the village, which was much cheaper, and she would cut Remus’s hair herself. Remus had only been back to Madam Cooke’s salon once, in his third year, when he had some birthday money left. It had been Madame Cooke’s day off, and a girl named Lucy, who was currently stood by an elderly lady with purple-grey hair, had tended to him.

‘Hello Madame Cooke,’ he greeted, politely, putting down his cup of tea on the small table in front of the sofa, and standing up to shake her proffered hand.

‘You’ve grown to be right tall, haven’t you?’ Madame Cooke smiled, before guiding him to a free chair and pulling a large black gown over him. Her eyes appeared to be even bluer in the reflection of the mirror as she put on her glasses and met his gaze. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Just a trim,’ Remus asked. ‘It’s in the way.’

‘Hmm,’ she assented. ‘It is a lot longer than you’ve had it before.’ Madame Cooke took a comb from her breast pocket and ran it through his hair. She grabbed a strand close to his ear, where it was easily the longest, and uncurled it, pulling it out and holding her fingers about half-way through. ‘I think about this much?’ she asked.

Remus nodded.

‘All right,’ she replied cheerfully, then took out her wand and scissors and got to work.

Fifteen minutes and an admittedly absurd fee of twenty galleons and seven sickles later, Remus had pulled on his gloves, left the salon, and made his way back to the high street. His hair had been expertly cut down to a more manageable length, and it no longer fell into his face whenever he leaned forward. Upon leaving, he had had to expressly reassure Madame Cooke that he would not forget to pass on her warm regards to his mother.

The village was its customary pictures of business this Saturday morning. Hogwarts students milled about, filling the streets, while Remus, himself, paused longingly outside of the display window of Scrivenshaft’s, looking at a fine new set of eagle-feather quills that he did not in the least need, but wanted, just a little. As he turned, and gradually started to make his way back up to the castle, he ran into many of his Prefects, including a harassed-looking Lily Evans, who had her arm looped through Alice Featherston’s, but nonetheless offered him a beautiful smile upon eye-contact.

As he left the village far behind, and trundled up the hill towards the castle, he met a slightly surprised-looking Professor McGonagall, who was on her way down. ‘Didn’t I just see you off, Lupin?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Professor,’ Remus replied, softly.

She narrowed her eyes, but then nodded. ‘Off you go, then,’ she said, passing him by and readjusting her emerald green hat as she went.

* * *

With the castle blissfully empty of nearly all students aged thirteen and up, Remus headed back to the dormitory to shed his heavy winter garments. He grabbed his book bag and the last of his Astronomy homework, and headed, without thinking too much about it, towards the tower classroom. When he pushed the door open, he noticed, quite immediately, that the Marauders appeared to have made some changes to it while he had been in the hospital.

On the left side of the classroom, some of the desks had disappeared, allowing room for a plush armchair and a sofa, with maybe dozens of books lying forgotten on the soft, mauve-red fabric. When Remus headed towards the window, the latch gave away easily under his fingers, and when he leaned out, he could feel the crackling magic of a Warming Charm in the air, which covered the area outside like a blanket and made it, when he decided to climb out and sag down onto one of the new wooden benches, a warm place to be. Pleasantly surprised, he smiled, and took the star chart for Jupiter and Pluto that was due tomorrow out of his bag and started to work.

An hour or so later, Remus had finished his star chart and was halfway through a reasonably passable attempt at filling in his dream diary for Divination. Despite the fact that he didn’t really believe Professor Trelawney to be very good at what she did, it was still one of his favourite subjects, much to the amusement of Clouthier and Allard, who were in class with him, and only took it because it was an easy pass. There was a creak by the window and Remus looked up, somehow entirely unsurprised to see, minutes later, James Potter sinking down, long limbs gangly and awkwardly stretched out on the bench next to him.

When Remus looked at him, he was smiling. ‘Hi,’ he greeted, warmly.

‘Hello,’ Remus returned, with a cautious smile. ‘Your idea?’ he asked, gesturing at the glittering, netted magic of the Warming Charm, which was doing an impressive job keeping the sudden onslaught of frigid, wintry rain out.

James followed Remus’s movement and shook his head. ‘Pete’s, surprisingly. Sirius did the spell work, though.’

‘It shouldn’t be able to hold back the rain,’ Remus mused.

‘It’s not,’ James responded, biting into an apple he produced out of his pocket, and giving him a funny look. ‘It’s warming it up.’

‘Oh,’ Remus said, only now noticing the shimmering veil of steam that was gathering just above the tower, bunching together in odd places where the magic ended. ‘Right. I should’ve noticed that.’

James shrugged in reply, taking a large bite of his apple and chewing thoughtfully. He glanced at Remus over the rim of his glasses, and Remus felt, for no reason he could really identify, suddenly nervous. ‘So,’ James said, after he’d swallowed. ‘Sirius told me you said that your granddad was ill. That you were out of the castle visiting him and that’s why you haven’t been around lately.’

Remus nodded mutely, staring down at his dream diary. He could hear James take another bite of his apple. Finally, the silence was broken by a soft and thoughtful, ‘Is he going to get any better?’

Remus slowly shook his head.

James let out a low whistle. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, clapping Remus’s shoulder in what was obviously meant to be a friendly gesture.

‘Thank you,’ Remus replied softly, feeling, for some reason, even worse about James’s genuine sympathy than he had felt about Black’s vehement anger. This, he supposed, was because he understood, deep down, that he was far more deserving of the latter than the former. Still, he knew he had no choice but to stick to the story, because the truth would turn out even worse for everyone involved, including him.

James hummed in the back of his throat and, despite the sticky feeling of guilt that set up camp in the pit of Remus’s stomach, an amiable silence fell between them. ‘So,’ James began, again, as if the first part of their conversation had never taken place, ‘any plans for today?’

Remus blinked at him, but James didn’t notice; he finished the rest of his apple, sat up straight, stretched his arm, and promptly tossed it over the side of the tower.

‘Not really,’ Remus admitted, following the apple’s trajectory, and wistfully wondering if all Gryffindors took such a laissez-faire attitude about their trash, or if it was just the Marauders who felt compelled to break the rules. ‘I was in Hogsmeade, but –’

‘Were you?’ James interrupted, sounding interested. ‘Funny, I’ve just come back from there, but I didn’t see you.’

‘I was at Madame Cooke’s,’ Remus muttered, somehow embarrassed about the fact. ‘But I left pretty quickly.’

‘Merlin, my Mum _loves_ her,’ James said. ‘She’s always going on about her. But she can be quite a handful. “You’ve grown to be right tall, haven’t you?”’ he added, in a very decent imitation of Madam Cooke’s Essex accent, as he looked Remus up and down, and then he laughed at his own joke. ‘But hey, if you’re done with homework, would you like to come up to our dorm? Map stuff,’ James proposed, his eyes hazel-green-bright behind his glasses, and Remus knew immediately that there was more to it than that, however casual James’s offer had been framed. But, he supposed, he may as well get things over with, and talk to Sirius Black face to face.

So Remus glanced up at him. ‘Sure.’

* * *

Remus had never been to the Gryffindor common room before and was surprised to find it hidden so easily in plain sight, behind the portrait of a woman dressed in a frilly pink robe, at the end of a deserted corridor. There were some murmurs of confusion amongst the students sitting there when Remus landed in the common room behind James, but they quickly stopped when James began a loud and unnecessary tour of the circular room, which was smaller and cosier than the Ravenclaw one.

‘And staircases – girls, boys,’ James finished, pointing at each in turn. ‘Let’s go then.’

Remus followed him up two sets of winding staircases and through a pair of wooden doors, only to find himself in the middle of a dormitory that looked, save for the fact that a bed was missing, exactly the same as his own. Black was lying on the bed next to the window, and he was tossing up the Remembrall that James had had with him during the New Year’s party. ‘Hullo,’ Black greeted, a bit cheerlessly, apparently unaware of whom exactly had entered the dormitory. ‘How was Hogsmeade?’

‘Fine,’ James conceded. ‘Peter’s still there with Gloria.’ He threw a significant glance in Remus’s direction, who realised that he should probably say something, too.

‘Ah, er, I got a haircut,’ he offered lamely.

There was a long pause, during which the Remembrall remained still in Black’s left hand, and then it flew up again. ‘It was getting too long,’ Black deadpanned.

Taking this as permission to talk to him, Remus headed over to Black’s bed. It was like looking at his own bed, but with deliberate mistakes. Despite Black’s sometimes messy appearance, his desk was neat, and was decorated with only one small photograph and a watch. A large, black trunk stood by the foot of his bed, the initials “S.O.B.” hand-painted in silver letters in the middle, and one of the drawers of his bedside table was stood open, revealing sets of neatly folded socks. Next to him, James’s bed and desk flowed together in what largely resembled a wobbly mountain of strewn-about clothes, while Pettigrew’s space seemed to be an eclectic mix of the two styles, messy and neat at the same time.

Black didn’t look up when Remus carefully sat at the foot of his bed, but he did stop tossing the ball up in the air. ‘All right?’ Remus ventured.

‘Hmm,’ Black replied, noncommittally, with no trace of the bitter, emerald-green-ink tone that had shouted at Remus in him. There was a pause and then Black sat up on both elbows, gazing at him quizzically. ‘How’s your grandfather?’

As during his conversation with James, Remus’s stomach twanged painfully with guilt. ‘About the same,’ he murmured, softly.

‘He’s really been ill since you were little?’ Black wanted to know.

Remus nodded. ‘Professor Dumbledore gave me permission to visit him whenever I can.’

Black sat up properly and raked a hand through his hair. He looked, for all the world, like a child, small and defenceless, and Remus looked away from him, focusing, instead, on his fingers, which he laced together.

‘Shit,’ Black said.

‘Yeah,’ Remus told his hands, putting painful pressure on his joints in an effort to distract himself from his own emotions, which were pulsing through his body. ‘A bit.’

‘Sorry, mate,’ Black offered, his grey eyes boring into the side of Remus’s temple, but Remus, cowardly, kept his gaze down.

A silence fell. ‘I’m the one who should apologise,’ he said, eventually, quietly. ‘I’m the one who lied –’

‘– let’s not,’ Black interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Look, I mean, I wasn’t too happy to be lied to, but Jim admittedly had a point when he said I was being far too dramatic about something you’re only doing to keep your word. It’s not your fault your family wants to keep this a secret.’

Remus blew out a shaky breath through his nose. ‘Right,’ he said, tearing his gaze away from his pale fingers and looking at Black, whose face was closer than he had realised. Black seemed to be as shocked by their proximity as Remus, because his grey eyes widened. There was a hint of something in them, of disbelief or doubt maybe, and Remus realised he was maybe not getting away with this as much as he wanted. But before he could say anything more, James clapped his hands together. Startled by the sound, Remus looked up, and when he chanced a glance back, Black’s expression was, again, carefully blank.

‘Right!’ James said, pulling the attention towards himself, once again. He had obviously been listening in on their conversation from where he had been sitting on his own four-poster bed, and made very little effort to hide the fact when Remus gave him a look. He stood up, grinning. ‘Now that that’s sorted, TC?’ he asked Black.

‘TC,’ Black agreed, with a nod, and hastily scrambled off the bed.  

‘What now?’ Remus asked, when neither of them made an effort to clarify what that meant, but he could not be heard over the triumphant shout of, ‘Now!’ James bellowed. He and Black raced out of the dormitory, almost colliding with a surprised Pettigrew, who was stood, cheeks ruddy from the cold, at the top of the stairs. Pettigrew blinked, and turned to Remus, who had walked towards the doorway.

‘What’s that about?’ Pettigrew asked, curiously, unwinding his large Gryffindor scarf.

Remus shrugged. ‘Something about TC?’ he wondered.

Pettigrew’s eyes went wide. ‘Wait for me!’ he bellowed, untangling himself from his scarf and throwing it directly into Remus’s face. Pettigrew turned around and raced down the stairs, leaving a confused Remus in his wake.

‘Come on, Lupin!’ came Black’s breathless, impatient shout at the foot of the stairs and Remus stepped out of the dormitory and towards the stairs, looking down at him.

‘I’m not even sure what you’re doing,’ he said, Pettigrew’s scarf bunched together in his hands.

‘Does it matter? We’re not going to lose this!’ Black urged, now making his way up the stairs.

‘But I –’ Remus began.

‘– Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Lupin, you’re worse than my mother, come _on_!’ Black interrupted him, tone demanding.

Before Remus could reply, Black tugged him forward by his sleeve. Pettigrew’s scarf slipped out of his fingers, fluttering down and sticking to the banister, and then the two of them were down the stairs, out of the portrait hole, and out of the Gryffindor common room. All thoughts of Black’s gaze fled out of Remus’s mind as they ran, at a breakneck pace, down the corridors and on their way to an unknown place.

* * *

The race carried them from the Gryffindor common room to the tower classroom, with Black, on the way, making liberal use of shortcuts and blurry alcoves that turned out to hide things like staircases and passageways. It made the two of them, with barely half a minute to spare, the winners of the race. Never one to back down, James had proposed another one, which had carried the four of them, at breathtaking speed, out of the castle, onto the grounds, and then deeply into the Forbidden Forest, following through deeply woven paths and past the greenest of foliage, some supporting fruits Remus had never seen before, made up of the darkest shades of red.

The race had seemed to be made up of rules only the three of them understood, but Remus knew, given the exhausting stitch in his side and the triumphant whoop that Black let out before they collapsed, in a heap of limps, in the middle of a copse of trees where they had played their first Quidditch match, that the two of them had somehow won this race, too, despite the fact that Remus’s leg muscles started to protest at the strain, and he started to be clumsy, nearly tripping over himself twice.

Or, at least, it felt like victory, because Black was smiling at him, with twigs and leaves caught in his hair, from where he had fought with a bramble bush earlier. As they had lost them somewhere earlier, around a pathway that ran in three different directions, the battle cries of Pettigrew and James had long since faded outwards, and all Remus could hear was the sound of his own breath, ragged and tired, and, beside him, Black’s breaths, which were sharp and a little raspy.

A comfortable silence fell, then, between them, as Remus’s heart slowed down. He sat up, absently running his hands down his legs to warm them up, as Madam Pomfrey had taught him, while he focused on the sound of the Forbidden Forest around him, breathing, living, dangerous around the edges. Suddenly, he was pulled out of his thoughts by Black, who asked him a question.

‘I’m sorry?’ Remus said, as he turned towards him.

Black’s gaze was searching, pensive, as he followed the movements of Remus’s hands. Instead of repeating the question, however, he turned his face away, and looked up at the sky, which was partially hidden from view by the trees around them, which had, over time, knotted themselves into a shadowy archway above them. ‘Never mind,’ he said, so softly Remus had barely heard. Unconvinced, Remus gazed at him thoughtfully.

‘You can ask me, you know,’ he said, after a pause. There was a vulnerability and softness to his tone that he didn’t even know he possessed; nor did he, honestly, know what had prompted him to say precisely those words.

Black drew in a breath, his eyebrows knotting together into a frown, and then opened his mouth, talking to the branches and leaves, his voice unnaturally loud in the clearing. ‘It’s your grandfather who’s ill, right? Your maternal grandfather?’ Before Remus had even formed a response, Black had continued. ‘Because honestly, it just makes no sense at all.’

Remus’s breath stopped, in his throat, as Black went on, his words artfully slashing through the carefully woven fabric of Remus’s lies. ‘When we studied in the library, you had that gash on your hand. When we saw you at Christmas, you looked like you’d been run over by a hoard of Hippogriffs. You’ve had a limp, on your right leg, on and off for at least a month. You were so incredibly ill from your chest infenction that they brought you into St Mungo’s, which you’ve never even told us, but I pulled it out of Marls when she came to Hogsmeade a few weeks into your stay. You’re pretending nothing’s wrong, but you’re off-balance and you’ve been rubbing your legs for about five minutes, as if they’re injured.’ Here, he paused, and turned to Remus, his gaze hard, and filled with all of the emotions Remus thought he had seen in the dormitory.

‘I think - I think you’re lying about what’s really going on,’ Black said. ‘I think you’re the one who’s ill.’

The words were raw, disarming, and most of all, honestly careful. And Remus knew, right there and then, that he had made the gravest mistake he could have ever made: he had allowed himself, just for a little while, to believe that he was a normal boy. But he was not normal, not at all, and everything was about to come crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your saint-like patience as I struggled through this chapter. I hope it was worth the wait.


End file.
